Dead Air
by AdmiralCats
Summary: (Bad Company: Book 15) A mission in Romania goes awry when Private Hudson finds himself lost behind enemy lines, and holed up in an abandoned radio station. Unable to make contact with his unit, only two choices are available: stay and wait for help, or run.
1. Chapter 1

A blanket of pale-gray clouds was rapidly approaching the beach, gradually blocking out the sun. With his gloves nearly soaked and covered with sand, the sudden cold breeze made Hudson more uncomfortable than he already was as he jogged toward Drake and Vasquez, who were kneeling over a freshly dug hole in the beach. "We might wanna start heading back, man!" he yelled over the biting wind.

Drake gave him a thumbs-up before standing and holding his hand out to Vasquez. He smirked as Hudson approached them. "You look cold."

"I am cold, man. That wasn't hot water I stuck my hands in with that one hole," Hudson replied. "Find anything?"

"No. You guys musta got lucky when you found the sand dollar pendent." Drake reached into his coat, pulling out the tiny gold pendent he added to his bone necklace; it was a Christmas gift Hudson and Vasquez had found. "It's OK. We can look elsewhere some other day. Maybe the storm will blow in some new treasures." He looked up at the slowly darkening sky, his smile fading. "Yeah, let's go back to base," he muttered.

"You doing OK, man?" Hudson asked, stopping himself from putting his hands in his pockets. He wasn't cleaning the sand out of them. "Something bugging you?"

"Nah, just . . . tired, that's all. I don't get why I've been restless for a month and then when I finally go outside, it doesn't take long for me to want to go back inside and not be bothered."

Hudson shrugged. "You have a very short energy supply."

That got Drake to smile a bit. "Maybe. At least Dietrich said I can go with you guys if we get ordered somewhere."

It was raining heavily when they returned to base, and they had to run through the gates before getting drenched. Once inside the main building, Drake gave Hudson a playful slap on the shoulder. "You're soaked to the bone, bud."

"I know. Hey, can you get my gloves off, man? I think they're frozen to my hands."

Drake sighed, before taking hold of the cold, wet, sandy gloves, and yanking them off. "Now, we go take an even colder shower, and catch some fucking pneumonia."

Hudson followed him to their room, kneeling by his bunk to open it and grab fresh clothes. Nothing was folded, and the underside of the bed was covered in photos. Some were curling at their edges, while many were brand-new. He took a moment to smile at one picture of his girlfriend, a smart young lady he met in Washington named Miranda Harrison. She was standing on a balcony with a view of the city skyline, holding a small poster board with " _Hi, Will. Love you_." written on it. He sighed, glancing next at a worn picture of Minneapolis, where he lived while preparing to enlist. A sad smile crossed over his face as he grabbed a T-shirt and shorts, and closed his rack.

In the shower locker room, Drake was already half-undressed, and taking out his hygiene items. He looked up when he saw Hudson walk in, and said, "How do your hands feel?"

Hudson snorted. "I can't feel 'em at all, man. Look-they're fucking whiter than snow." He held out his hands. Every joint felt stiff, and only his fingertips were somewhat red.

"And that's why you don't stick them in a sand-hole filling up with water."

"I thought I saw something cool. Guess I didn't, man."

Drake stepped into one of the shower stalls, putting his hand under the water. "Here, this one's warm." He hung his towel on a metal hook, and closed the curtain of another stall. "I really wish we'd get sent back to D.C. for whatever half-cocked reason Delhoun can come up with."

"Why's that, man?"

"Because we'd get hot showers every night, a soft bed, good food, cable, all the good stuff."

"And our girlfriends."

"Yep. That's pretty important. Sex every couple nights, too."

"I dunno, Drake. Vasquez makes you earn it," Hudson laughed.

"I can behave. I can keep my mood under control. Also, now that I'm off the painkillers, I can drink again."

"Oh, yeah, man. First thing we do in D.C. is find a good bar and drink to your health."

"My health is shit. No point in drinking to it."

"Well, then, let's drink because we can drink."

"What's all this chat about drinking?" a stern voice said from outside the shower room.

A curse went through Hudson's mind when he peered from behind the curtain to see Apone glaring into the room. _How much of that did he hear? Shit, I mentioned Vasquez. Did I just blow her cover with Drake?_

"I don't know what kinda fantasies you two are having, and I certainly don't care. When you two are done, I want to see your sparkly-clean asses in the briefing room, ASAP."

"Yes, sir," Drake said. As soon as Apone left, Drake gave a heavy sigh. "Didn't know he was coming."

"Me, neither, man. Sorry."

"Well, let's just keep our mouths shut, OK? I know that's hard for you to do, but do it."

* * *

Shaking water out of his hair, Hudson strolled down to the briefing room, giving everyone already seated a little nudge before sitting next to Drake. As Apone walked in and turned on the giant screen, which displayed a map of the world, Hudson raised his hand, a goofy grin on his face.

"What is it, Hudson?" Apone said with a straight face. "No, we're not going on a picnic."

"We going to Italy, Sarge? We getting lots of pizza and wine?" Hudson asked.

"Why do I even bother responding when you raise your hand?" Apone stepped in front of the map, zooming in on Europe.

"Lookit this whipped old man asking about pizza and wine," Frost snorted. "Six months ago, you'd be asking about hooking up with one of those cute dark-haired Italian girls."

Hudson rolled his eyes. "I'm not whipped and I'm not an old man."

"No, you are most definitely whipped by your girlfriend. I saw your pictures of her. She's the shy kind that guilt-trips you into being loyal."

Drake turned around to give Frost a dirty look, ice-blue eyes glowing with anger. "Do you wanna fight, because I'll give it to you right here."

"Hey! Knock it off, both of you!" Hicks growled. "Grow up!"

Silence finally fell over the room. Apone paced a little before saying, "Thank you, Hicks. Now, as I was about to say, no, we're not going to Italy. We're going to Romania." The map continued to zoom in on an area just north of the capital city of Bucharest. "A couple of countries in eastern Europe have been having issues with military insurgents and tech hijacking. You people see the problem here? Four clusters of these guys are getting too close to Bucharest's door. We, along with Sergeant Foster and his Marines, have been invited to Romania to kick a little ass and drive this group of insurgents away from any areas containing civilians. Right now, we got a death toll getting higher every Goddamn day and we're gonna make it stop climbing."

"So this is a legit hot zone, Sarge?" Hudson asked.

"Hotter than hell, Private. Go rest up. We're leaving tomorrow morning."

* * *

Over an hour had passed since everyone in the room climbed in their bunks and went to sleep. Hudson was still awake, staring at the wall and listening to the breathing of Drake, Hicks, and Spunkmeyer. It had been awhile since he was in a really bad hot zone. Much of what he'd been in the last year or so was cleanup, or accidents, or terrorism, or rescues. Never a full-on warzone. There'd be no joking around when they arrived.

 _Everyone's probably nervous,_ he thought, sighing. _We've been in and out of big hot zones before. No reason we won't be in and out with this one._ He got out of his bunk, standing on his toes to get a good look at Drake. _He's not lying awake, and he's usually pretty nervous 'bout everything. I think we're good._ Hudson slunk back into his rack, and pulled the blanket up to his face, finally drifting into a deep sleep.

They were roused at four in the morning by both Apone and Foster yelling and banging on their doors. Hicks was up quickly, pulling on his trousers and rapping on the sides of the bunks. "Come on, guys, get up. We gotta get moving and have breakfast."

Hudson moaned and sighed as he sat up, shuddering at the freezing air touching his bare skin. "What time is it, man?"

"Doesn't matter. Get up, get dressed, go down to the mess hall." Hicks looked up at Drake. "You, too, sleepyhead."

Hudson heard a displeased grunt in the rack above him.

Within five minutes, he was fully dressed in his field uniform, minus the armor. He sat down in front of a plate loaded with high-calorie courses, and the scent of potatoes and bacon perked him up a little.

"Eat up! You're not eating when you get there!" Apone shouted. "I wanna see those plates clean! You're gonna need every fucking scrap you get!"

Sure, everything smelled good, but that didn't mean it tasted good. Hudson shoveled down mouthful after mouthful of slightly burnt, dry potatoes, and what he could only assume was turkey bacon. There wasn't even butter for the massive whole-wheat biscuit he nearly choked on.

"You'll get a nice, big dessert when we come home, guys," Hicks said. "I promise."

"Yeah, right," Drake muttered.

"Stop talking back and eat, bud," Hicks replied.

Hudson resisted the urge to smirk, but it came out anyway.

After eating and filling up their canteens with water, every Marine was ordered down to the armory to put on their armor and grab their weapons before racing out to the airfield for their flight out to Romania. Hudson threw open his locker, noticing some old photographs of pinups from magazines that he never had the chance to trade away to someone else. _Should put something else in there. Hey, Miranda can send me a swimsuit photo._ He knew he could get into a lot of trouble for that, unless Miranda sent one without him asking.

From the corner of his eye, Hudson watched Drake and Vasquez help each other with their armor and smartguns. "Tighten up the back a little, honey," Drake said. As Vasquez moved around to adjust the back straps, she slid her hand under his armor, stroking his side, then his belly. Drake looked at her, and when he was certain nobody was watching, he nuzzled her face.

A pang of jealousy squirmed in Hudson's gut. He shut his locker, throwing his pulse rifle over his shoulder, and following everyone out of the armory. He stood in a line with the rest of his unit, before Apone ordered them all outside. It was still dark out, and the lights of the town onshore provided a gentle, orange glow. The eastern horizon was beginning to turn a deep pinkish-red, merging with the dark-blue of the passing night. Everyone was running to the cargo plane. Sergeant Foster was pushing people aside to let the smartgunners in first, then began grabbing guys by the back of their armor to hoist them into the plane. Hudson could hear the medtechs going over their equipment in the back as he strapped himself in, wedged between Drake and Wierzbowski.

Ten minutes later, he heard Foster shout, "Right, we're good to go!"

"Affirmative!" Ferro hollered back.

The plane shot down the runway. Hudson felt a yanking sensation in the pit of his stomach. The yanking was followed by an awful nausea that came as a result of such a heavy breakfast.

The flight was strangely quiet. Hudson glanced over at Hicks, who looked half-asleep. Drake was staring upward, clearly lost in thought. He then looked at Hudson, and said, "Nervous?"

Hudson shook his head. "Not at all, man. We'll be in and out in no time."

"I wouldn't be that hopeful."

"That's your lack of confidence talking."

Drake rolled his eyes. "This isn't some easy-peasy rescue task, Hudson. Some of us are likely going to be shot and hurt. Worse yet, some of us could die. Get your head in the game, moron. You think I wanna lose you? You think I wanna lose anyone here? I've got enough problems, and you getting killed would make everything worse."

Hudson was a little dumbfounded. "Oh, so, this isn't about my wellbeing? This is all about _your_ wellbeing?"

"Don't start this fucking nonsense here," Hicks sighed.

"You guys sound like an old married couple sometimes," Vasquez said.

"That's not helpful right now," Drake replied.

"Get a sense of humor," Hicks said. "We're going into a really bad situation, and it's OK to lighten the mood a little."

There was silence for a few minutes, then Drake muttered, "We better be getting some extra pay for this."

"Drake, if you got paid every time you bitched about something, you'd be the richest man in the world," Frost said.

"Well, wouldn't that be nice."

* * *

The remainder of the flight was somewhat quieter. Maybe it was just nerves that were causing people to argue and snap at each other. All Hudson could do was hope everyone forgot about it when they returned home. And that everyone was going to return home.

The plane landed at a makeshift base well over a mile away from the fighting. Apone was yelling over the roar of the engines of several vehicles for everyone to get out and get in a waiting APC. There was no slowing down, no waiting. It was game time.

With the motor running and multiple radios active, no one could hear anything going on outside the APC. Hudson was in between Hicks and Vasquez, heart hammering against his ribcage. Jesus, he was close to the door. After Hicks, he was the first one out. His throat was tight and dry. He unscrewed the cap of his canteen, taking a swig of water. The APC suddenly rocked against the rough terrain, sending water all over his armor.

There was suddenly another jolt, and an explosion was heard.

" _Get out! Everybody, out!_ " Hicks shouted. "Hudson, Frost! Protect the smartgunners! We got RPGs ahead of us!"

Hudson found himself being pushed out into a grassy field. Clouds of smoke were rising up in every direction, and the rattle of machine guns was nonstop.

Drake was running ahead of him, then paused, turning his head toward the APC. " _Hudson! Get on my ass, NOW!_ "

Darting over to Drake, Hudson raised the sights of his pulse rifle to his eye, spotting a black-clad Romanian insurgent hiding in the grass. The man was aiming a sniper rifle at Drake. In a split-second, blood exploded from his back as Hudson fired several rounds through him. "Get cover, man!" Hudson yelled. Sweat was already running down his face as he sprinted alongside Drake to a flaming, hollowed-out APC sitting near the edge of a hillside. Below them were several miles of empty land, and then a suburban area of Bucharest.

Bullets clanged against the shell of the APC. Drake would emerge from behind it in order to fire his smartgun toward the woods. He then dashed back in time for someone to shoot the spot where he was once standing.

Hudson looked ahead, noting that the insurgents were likely using the woods as cover. "We're gonna have to press through there, man!"

"Our task at hand is to keep them away from civilians!" Drake shouted back. "We're too close as it is! We gotta start forcing them toward the mountains before they gain the upper hand!"

An explosions rocked the other side of the APC, sending the two flying backward. Drake was struggling to recover, and Hudson scrambled up to help him. He glanced forward to see two hostiles dashing out of the woods, one of them holding a rocket launcher. Shielding Drake with his own body, Hudson fired at the oncoming soldiers, watching them collapse in the process. He slung his weapon over his shoulder before grabbing Drake and forcing him upward.

"Thanks. I owe you one," Drake said.

"Just don't die, man!" Hudson frantically scanned the area, and pressed a button on his headset. "Hicks, we gotta start pressing into the woods! Hicks! Can you hear me?!"

"Hicks is down!" Vasquez shouted. "He got shot in the shoulder! Dammit, Hudson, we're taking heavy fire!"

"Where are you guys?!"

His response was nothing but static. Gunfire was faintly heard, but no voices.

"I'm heading back," Drake said.

"But we gotta-"

"Helping our own is more important! 'Never leave a Marine behind,' remember? Come on, let's get outta here." Drake started jogging back to where they were originally dropped off.

More bullets started whizzing by them. Drake turned around, firing toward an enemy he realized he couldn't see.

Hudson whirled around as well, shooting into the darkness between the trees ahead. "We can't turn 'round, man! That makes us easy targets!"

"Throw a grenade, dumbass!"

Still holding his pulse rifle, Hudson fumbled around with yanking a grenade off his belt. The rapid banging of weapons all around him was beginning to give him a headache. Finally, he yanked the grenade free, and pulled the pin before hurling it toward the forest. He shoved Drake ahead, continuing to feel sweat beading on his forehead and running down his neck. Heat suddenly passed over him as the grenade exploded, and he heard shrapnel pinging against his armor.

The grenade must've missed its mark. Flashes kept coming from deep in the woods. "Fuck it!" Drake snarled, getting behind a large rock jutting out of the ground. "I'm pinning them down! You go get backup! Gimme some of your grenades and your flamethrower!"

Nodding, Hudson gave Drake what he wanted, then started running. He managed to reach their APC, where Dietrich was trying to treat Hicks, who was lying on a crude stretcher, grimacing in pain. Blood had soaked the entire left side of Hicks's shirt. A round had went clear through his shoulder pad.

"Is he gonna be OK?" Hudson gasped, his chest tight with stress and fear.

"He'll be fine if we can get some fucking air support!" Dietrich snapped.

"We need backup out there, man!"

"You're gonna have to regroup with the others! All the radios are down!"

A sense of panic pierced through Hudson's chest. If the radios were down, he couldn't make contact with Drake. _I fucking left him all alone out there!_ He was torn between finding Drake, and finding the rest of his unit. _I can get Drake, and we can find the others. Can't be too far off._ He ran out of the APC, and didn't stop running until he came to the spot where he was certain he left Drake.

A knot abruptly began tightening itself around Hudson's stomach. There was no sign of Drake at all. Muffled gunfire was ringing out from somewhere far from him. He glanced around, spotting scorch marks on the ground, leading into the woods. Blindly, Hudson headed in the forest, calling for Drake. He called until his throat was raw.

The only response he got was someone barking in Romanian. A man popped out from behind a tree, shooting at Hudson. Dashing toward another tree, Hudson pumped his sudden attacker with lead, and found the woods were quiet once more. He kept moving, afraid that he'd come across the corpse of his friend.

The quietness unnerved him, and he took his motion tracker off the side of his backpack.

Nothing.

Hudson began walking backward. The handle of his pulse rifle was slick with sweat. He looked nervously up at the trees, not seeing anything, or anyone.

It didn't take much to see why walking backwards was a bad idea; every organ and muscle suddenly tensed up as he found himself falling and tumbling down the hill, into a small, grassy valley below. He lay on his back, staring up at a dismal gray sky, listening to the faraway skirmishes. He was now covered in bruises, and unsure of what to do. A part of him wanted to scream, but he knew that was only going to bring unwanted attention.

* * *

 _Author's Note: This is one of a few chapters I've ever written with predominantly action as the focus. I haven't really been all that confident when it comes to writing action, but I definitely feel like the mission at the end of "Cold Spirits" was the better action scene.  
_

 _There were a few times throughout this chapter where I had to remind myself that this is going to be Hudson's story, not Drake's, so I hope it doesn't look like this is another Drake story but in third-person. Think of it as a slow buildup for Hudson._


	2. Chapter 2

Almost as soon as Hudson sat up, he turned to one side, becoming violently ill. His stress, anxiety, and fear were evident in the fact that everything coming up from his stomach didn't look like it had even started digesting. It made the rushing and the heavy breakfast of that morning pointless. That was a lot of energy he wasn't going to get.

He continued to heave as he slowly got on his knees. His stomach lurched again, and he remained frozen on his hands and knees as he threw up the remainder of his breakfast. It eventually stopped, but he could still feel the uncomfortable clenching and unclenching of the muscles in his gut, acting as though he still had stuff to puke.

The sounds of battle were a good distance away as of now. He still had a job to do, and that was to find Drake.

"He's not dead," Hudson whispered aloud, breathing hard. "Jesus, man, I'd know if he was dead." He got to his feet, shaking a little. His body was protesting this sudden movement after vomiting, but he started pressing onwards.

The hill was too steep to climb back up to the woods. To his right was the bumpy field leading to the Bucharest outskirts. Ahead of him was more empty land, and he realized that he'd be going deep into enemy territory.

Then again, he had no idea if this was enemy territory. He didn't know if the USCM had gained a better footing. Surely, he'd know about it, right?

He was about to tap the button on his headset when he remembered what Dietrich said about the radios being down. Lowering his hand, he gripped his pulse rifle tightly, realizing that he was completely alone. He would've thrown up again if he had something to throw up, but he'd have to deal with the clenching feeling for now.

He left the ditch, pausing every so often to use the motion tracker. There was a shit-ton of movement to his left. He turned, seeing the trees-good spots for sniper nests. Perhaps he was just picking up animals. He _hoped_ he was just picking up animals.

Hudson jumped when a loud bang rung out close to him. Someone shouted in a foreign tongue, and he took that as his cue to start running. There was more than one person shooting at him. Sooner or later, they were going to follow him. Hudson dropped to the ground, aiming his pulse rifle despite his hands still shaking. _Where are you? Where are you?_ He fired into the trees. A second later, a body fell from one of them.

A sudden bright jet of flame was coming toward him. Hudson rolled onto his back, scrambling upright before bolting. The flamethrower operator, trailed by two guys wielding submachine guns, gave chase.

Hudson didn't dare look over his shoulder. He wasn't focusing on where he was going. Bullets whizzed by him, and he could feel a burst of heat behind him. He then tripped, and tried to move onto his side to fire his weapon. He got himself a lucky shot; a round went straight through the fuel tank on flamethrower, causing an explosion. The two submachine gunners were downed as well, collapsing and screaming as the flesh was burned from their bones.

 _This could've gone such a bad way,_ Hudson thought as he stood up. He checked his motion tracker again, seeing no one. Releasing his breath, he looked around, unsure of where he was. He tapped his headset, and got nothing but faint static. _I'm really on my own._

He was going to have to wander until he could find help. So far, this area was clear. No sign of hostiles. No sign of his own allies. No sign of Drake. There's no way he could've gotten out here. Surely, he managed to get back to the APC, or with the rest of their unit. Hudson tipped his head back, using what strength he had to holler, " _Drake! Draaaaake!_ " He paused, listening for a response. Somewhere in the woods, a fox barked.

Hudson took a breath. " _DRAKE! DRAAAAAKE!_ " His voice was echoing across the landscape.

Nothing. No audible response. No blips on the motion tracker.

Tears streamed down his face. He kept calling, over and over. Still, nothing, aside from his own echo. Eventually, he gave up, and continued moving.

* * *

Hudson went over a mile without seeing anyone. There were several structures, most of them abandoned, and appeared to be so for a long time. He approached a small radio station, also abandoned, but looking less dilapidated compared to the other structures. He could hide here for the time being.

The doors were unlocked, and their warning signs had all but faded. As a precaution, Hudson tried to bolt them shut, just in case any hostiles came poking around. He welded broken pieces of metal across the doors, and backed them up with furniture. It would take serious work to get in here, plenty of time for him to flee if need be.

The windows already had their blinds closed, giving Hudson extra cover. He felt safer, but not by much. If anyone had a thermal or heartbeat sensor, they'd catch him easily. For now, though, his first priority was remaining hidden until he could get help, or someone on his side found him.

Whoever was here last did a decent, but still sloppy job of cleaning up. There was still furniture lying around, broken appliances, and stained carpets all over. The radio equipment was unusable, and coated in a thick layer of dust. There were no papers of any kind, aside from a sticky note on the dashboard of one of the broadcast rooms. He looked in the break room, seeing the vending machine had been cleared out, and the water coolers were empty. The break room had no windows (and no light), so he figured it would be the best place to hide out.

His mind started settling down a little, and he sat on the couch, which had two dirty pillows and an afghan blanket lying on it. It would have to do for now. The bathroom wasn't functional at all, but he wasn't about to relieve himself outside. _I shouldn't be here that long._ He closed his fly, glancing around the dark and grimy room. Every surface felt nasty to touch, and he couldn't imagine what diseases were lurking around here.

Hudson's fears of getting seriously ill here were overshadowed by his fear for Drake. He sat back down in the break room, and stared up at the ceiling, which was covered in small cracks and water stains. "Drake, I'm sorry, man," he whispered, tears filling his eyes again. He put his head in his hands, his body racking with sobs. Every little ache and pain seemed magnified by a thousand as he sat and cried. He hoped Drake was OK. He hoped everyone else had managed to regroup. He hoped they were looking for him.

He sat in silence for several hours, unsure of what to do with himself. He pulled off his backpack, looking through his gear out of boredom, and breathed a sigh of relief when he found a small pack of rations under his gas mask and first-aid kit. _Water's more important . . . how much do I have left?_ He opened his canteen, seeing it was more than half-full. _This'll last me a day if I drink like they tell you to drink. I can ration it out._ His throat was still raw from screaming, so he took a gulp of water. He screwed the cap back on before putting the canteen back in his backpack.

Taking off his helmet, Hudson opened the ration pack, finding a wide variety of dry, vacuum-sealed food. He had joked with his friends in the past about how rations were always hit-or-miss when it came to what was in them. Sometimes, there was something really good. Other times, not so much.

At least the awful clenching feeling in his gut had stopped. Hudson tore open a tiny bag of trail mix, dumping some of the contents in his mouth. He gagged and coughed because of how dry it was, but choked it down regardless. _Need all the energy I can get. I threw it all up a few hours ago._

He went into one of the broadcast rooms, seeing dark orange light seeping in through the closed blinds. Subtly, he looked through the blinds, seeing the sun going down. He then walked around the station with the motion tracker, not picking up any signals whatsoever.

Returning to the break room, Hudson debated with himself whether getting any sleep was a good idea. He resealed the ration pack before putting it back in his bag, and took a small sip of water. Sighing, he shook the dust out of the afghan before laying it over himself, making sure his gear and pulse rifle were right next to him. The motion tracker would wake him.

* * *

Hudson jolted awake when he started hearing the familiar steady beeping of the motion tracker. He threw the blanket off, grabbing his weapon and the tracker. Something was outside the station. Or someone.

He crouched by the door, keeping his finger near the trigger of his pulse rifle. He shut the tracker off, hoping whoever was out there didn't hear it. There was silence for a minute, then a sudden sharp chill shot up his spine.

Three soft taps were heard, like someone rapping their knuckle against a metal door.

Hudson's throat tightened as he tried to swallow hard. He kept the rifle trained on the door, hoping he'd stop shaking long enough to get a few rounds off if someone barged in.

Three more taps were heard, followed by someone speaking in Romanian. Was it an insurgent, or national military? The Romanian military were working with the USCM. The only way to tell if this was friend or foe was call out to them, and see how they responded.

 _What's your gut telling you, man?_ Hudson took a breath. Deep down, he was feeling a resounding "no." His hands continued to shake, but he refused to lower his weapon.

Whoever was at the door began rattling the knob. Hudson heard two voices, and he guessed they were complaining about how the door wasn't opening. Finally, they started banging on it, and Hudson breathed a quiet sigh of relief when he saw the metal piece was holding up.

The banging went on for ten minutes. Then it stopped. Hudson saw the metal was slightly bent, but it didn't break off. He slunk back into the break room, certain that whoever was there had given up, and wasn't coming back.

* * *

A feeling of hopelessness crashed over Hudson when the sun came up the next morning, and no help had arrived. He put his helmet on and pressed the headset button. Still, nothing but static.

Something was telling Hudson not to leave the station. Something was telling him that he was stuck in enemy territory, and it was going to be awhile before he got any kind of help. _I don't have a lot of clean water, or food._ He opened his ration pack, taking out the packet of trail mix. He poured some of it in his mouth, and headed to the broadcast room to look out the window again.

Nothing.

 _Drake wouldn't be putting up with this,_ Hudson thought. He wished Drake, or anyone, was there with him. They'd have better plans for escape than he did; all he wanted to do was wait. Then again, he probably wouldn't be in this situation if he had someone with him. _I can't afford to moan about this, man. I'm on my own and I gotta deal with it._

Hours passed again. Hudson found himself pacing, while holding his weapon. His thoughts began wandering when he couldn't take the pacing and waiting anymore, and he sat in the break room again.

Abruptly, his thoughts turned to Miranda. He wondered if she'd sent him another letter, maybe a photograph, while he was gone. He hoped she was doing OK. Hell, she had to be doing better than him. He wished he was looking forward to a night out with her, but given their distance and his uncertain situation, that just wasn't possible. Overall, he wanted to hug her again; they had only hugged twice, and both times felt really good. He remembered telling Drake that Miranda really liked it when he hugged her on the Metro platform. _Geez, that was months ago, but it feels like years._ Hudson sighed. Any kind of hug would feel good right about now.

He never had any real success with any romantic relationship he ever attempted. Then again, Miranda was the only girl he had been serious with. Everything else had been laden with regrets and bad choices and virtually no emotion. No _good_ emotion, if he wanted to get technical.

If this was three or four years ago, Hudson wouldn't have paid Miranda a second glance. She was the type of girl whose idea of fun was sitting and talking over a coffee. Boring. She was OK with talking about feelings. Too much work. She wasn't very adventurous. Also boring.

It really wasn't until he opened up to Drake, as well as Vasquez, that he started realizing there was more to the aspect of emotion that meets the eye. He had subconsciously shut it off for a long time, and turning it on was like walking into the attic of a house after twenty years of not doing so and flipping on the light. The light revealed a giant mess. A mess that really needed to be cleaned, and he couldn't do it by himself. Drake and Vasquez were like the neighbors you ask to help clean up and organize that mess.

 _Hicks had a similar problem, but he just hated opening up to people. He was afraid of people not getting it._ A part of Hudson still felt bad for not telling Drake earlier about Hicks's own issues once Drake became suspicious that their corporal was hiding something. He had found out the real reasons Hicks was sent to their unit a few weeks after Hicks arrived, long before meeting Drake.

Nearly every corporal he'd ever met was very headstrong, had a commanding presence, and wasn't afraid to interact with his Marines. Hicks was all of those, but he seemed to be carrying extra baggage. A lot of extra baggage. And he didn't tell anyone about it. He disappeared to sick bay for almost three hours every day. Hudson remembered it was a Saturday when Hicks didn't come out of his quarters, and he could hear Apone knocking on the door, and trying to coax Hicks out.

From that day on, everyone was a little curious as to what was wrong. Of course, Hicks wasn't letting anyone in-much like Drake-but he did eventually gather everyone in the lounge and told them the truth. He explained what happened, he explained why he was going to sick bay every morning. Afterwards, everyone tried to be sympathetic and helpful. As a result, the bonds between Hicks and each individual in the unit got stronger, which was exactly what Hicks had wanted after nearly three years of being in a highly dysfunctional unit.

Except for Hudson. Hudson wasn't sure what to do, didn't completely understand what Hicks was feeling. People in his life had died, but his grief didn't effect him the way it did Hicks. He knew people grieved in different ways, but he didn't think it would become devastating. In short, he was certain he couldn't help Hicks at all.

Hicks got better without Hudson's help anyway. That was the start of a drawn-out wakeup call for Hudson to start changing himself, start understanding life wasn't all fun and games. There's always room for fun in life, but he couldn't ignore the sheer power of depression. It could effect anyone. He also couldn't ignore how he didn't put a lot of effort into helping Hicks. He felt bad, constantly wishing he'd been more involved, wishing he wasn't so afraid of screwing up in this department.

Really, it was finding out Drake and Vasquez were actually in a relationship when Hudson felt like he needed to get his act together when it came to love. He didn't want to leave the Marines and be alone for the rest of his life. He didn't want to be known as the guy who was "great at one-night stands," and unfortunately, that statement continued to be the first thing people thought of when meeting him and knowing about his past. He knew that was his fault, so it was his job to change it.

At least Miranda was giving him a chance. At least _he_ was giving _her_ a chance. She had been struggling with love as well, not in the way Hudson did, thank God. She needed someone who could listen to her. He needed someone who could put up with his goofiness. They just looked like a mismatched pair on the outside, but maybe they were the best match heaven could make.

 _I hope I can see her more often. Geez, I really wanna make up for how stupid I was at the Christmas party._ Hudson gave a disappointed sigh while thinking about how he really blew his only chance to interact with Miranda face-to-face. He was drunk, and he wasn't paying a lot of attention to her, until they faced each other and she kissed him. He wasn't sure what to say or do, so he hugged her. They were locked in that embrace for a few minutes, enjoying every second. That was when they decided to go to his suite, and do it.

Drunken sex. He did that before. He didn't want to do it again.

Hudson continued to stare at the wall, sighing again. He rubbed his face, feeling tears stinging his eyes. _First thing I'm gonna do when I get outta here is request leave. I wanna go see her. Make up for what I did. Man, I've said sorry so many times . . . Why don't I feel like I've apologized?_

With nothing else to do, he allowed himself to sob freely.

* * *

 _Question: Where does Hudson feel more like a three-dimensional character? As the protagonist or as a side character? Does having someone for him to bounce off of (i.e., Drake) better develop him?_


	3. Chapter 3

Hours and hours of complete silence became more of a nightmare than an elongated moment of peace. Hudson lay on the old couch in the break room, eyes heavy-lidded while staring at the screen of the motion tracker. He jolted up at the slightest sound, then sighed as he settled back down upon noting it wasn't anything to be nervous about. He looked at his watch, seeing that it was half-past three in the afternoon. On the wall was a simple analog clock, the hands stuck at six. Six in the morning, or six in the evening? When did it stop? Did it stop when people were still working here? Or did it keep ticking long after the place was abandoned? Of course Hudson had heard the saying that time is the only thing that keeps going, no matter what, but it looked like this clock had decided to quit, much like himself.

It was amazing how many different memories he thought he had disappeared were coming back, just by looking at the dusty stopped clock. Seeing that it was reading six reminded Hudson of when he was living in Minneapolis for roughly a year before he enlisted. Six was clock-out time. Six was when he got to go home.

He had grown up in the middle of nowhere. Moving to the city seemed like the best way to get his own independent life rolling. His problem was that he plunged into life with no plan and very little ambitions. Short-term happiness was called "short-term" for a reason.

After being broke, going hungry for a few days, and sending application after application to every business in the metropolitan area, Hudson managed to get a weak foothold on his new life. His first job there was pizza delivery. As mind-numbing as it sounds, he had his fair share of interesting moments while driving around the city in a hot van full of freshly-made food. There were more different types of people compared to home, some friendly and some not. He remembered the guys in the office building complex that invited him into their Christmas party. He remembered the strange couple out in the suburbs that almost mugged him, and then heard a few days later that they were arrested for drug-dealing. He remembered the little girl that asked if he was magic because "he's the nice man that makes the pizza appear." He remembered the drunkard that refused to pay for his order. He remembered being stuck in traffic during a bad blizzard, and after making his deliveries over an hour late, he told everyone on his list not to bother paying. He got a generous tip, though.

Despite all that, he knew that when his shift was over at six PM, he could go home. Home was an apartment near the suburbs, near an elementary school. Hudson spent way too much time trying to make little repairs all around the apartment. He was new to that stuff, and a simple fix would take far longer than need be, giving him not a lot of time to do whatever it was he wanted to do. At least, that's how the weekends were; he had no friends, so no one was inviting him anywhere. He made a point of making six PM the time to just stop. Stop working, stop fixing, stop worrying.

Boredom would prompt Hudson to leave his apartment and venture out into the city. He'd stop at bars and diners, and tried talking to people. He'd drink, and drink a lot. He'd talk to some of the pretty young women in the bars-

 _That's where I fucked up. Sometimes literally._ Hudson pulled himself out of the deep sea of thoughts, knowing he needed to take a breath, and just . . . not delve into the details of his memories where he screwed up horribly.

Sitting up on the couch, Hudson looked at his watch, and noticed how the room had gotten a little darker. He glanced at his motion tracker, seeing nothing, and gave a heavy sigh. _There's no one outside. I should make a run for it. No, I shouldn't. There could be hundreds of them hiding out in the woods, man. You'll never make it._ He looked up at the ceiling. _When will someone come for me?_

He put on his helmet and tapped his headset. Again, he got static. He took the helmet off, and threw it against the wall. Tears filled his eyes, and he knelt on the stained carpet, struggling to keep his crying under control. A nasty thought surfaced, something along the lines of _No one's going to come for you. You're going to be abandoned here to die._

Hudson refused to let that thought overtake him. He had seen what thoughts like that had done to Drake.

 _Drake . . . God, I hope he's OK. He's looking for me for sure, man._ Hudson gave a shaky sigh, watching tears drip from his face to the floor. He gave himself time to breathe and compose himself. Anything to just remain calm. That's all he needed.

* * *

Another two hours went by without any changes. Hudson took his pulse rifle and tracker before going back to a broadcast room, peering out the window. The sky was a deep red-orange, tinged with pink. The woods were a massive black shadow against it. Again, his thoughts wandered back to when he got off the bus at the end of his street and walked down to his apartment complex, the sky darkening and the city lights beginning to twinkle not too far from him.

Hudson shook his head, trying to focus. There was no point, considering there was no one around. He stood up, making sure the blinds weren't moving around enough to be noticed by anyone who happened to walk nearby. _You can relax now,_ he thought, heading back to the break room. His stomach growled as he opened the ration pack, and a twinge of panic gripped him as he saw how little he had left. All that was remained were two Saltines and a small packet of peanut butter.

The peanut butter was nasty enough. He wasn't going to use half of it today and the other tomorrow, not when he had no way to preserve it and keep it from drying out. Before opening the Saltines, he checked the radio in his helmet again.

No static, but no voices, either. Hudson wasn't sure if this was a good sign or not. He worked up enough saliva to get his throat somewhat moistened, and spoke into the mic. "Is anyone out there, who can hear me? Drake? Dietrich? Apone? Somebody? Please . . ." Tears filled his eyes again. "Someone get me outta here, man."

Nothing. Hudson felt like he had just talked to himself, not doing himself any good.

Within the next ten minutes, the ration pack was completely empty. Guilt was the dominant feeling, though, rather than hunger. Hudson stared down at the floor, cursing himself for not spreading his limited food supply even thinner. It wasn't an easy thing to do, given that once something was opened, he couldn't leave it out for too long. The dry stuff was fine, but the wet stuff (like the tiny pork brisket entrée he scarfed down for breakfast) would get gross fast.

Still, he should've put more effort into preserving everything.

At least he was managing his water well, but those thoughts changed when he used the restroom an hour later. He was drinking very little throughout the day, and that was reflected in his urine. He noticed it was somewhat dark that morning, but it had gotten darker now. That wasn't good.

Water was more important than food. Getting water was now his first priority.

Hudson returned to the break room, and picked up his canteen. There wasn't much left, but staring at it and being afraid of getting too dehydrated made him want to just gulp down the rest of it. _Something is better than nothing. Keep doing what you're doing. Don't get rid of it too fast. You don't know when help is coming._

He started feeling like locking himself in this abandoned station was a bad idea. Then again, when did he ever have a _good_ idea? _I'm a total moron. I got in the Marines because I thought that I'd be more useful. I haven't changed a bit._ Deep down, he knew that wasn't true. He knew he had changed a lot since joining the Marines, since meeting certain people who not only accepted him for who he was, but also helped him become a better person. He knew managing to escape this place on his own would prove to them that he had grown, that he wasn't always panicky or a quitter.

After having a few more drops of water, Hudson closed the canteen, and lay back down on the couch. He had a feeling it was going to be another long night, and he wasn't wrong. The hours dragged by slower and slower as he tried to endure the dull, jabbing pangs of hunger in his belly, and the awful parchedness in his throat. _I still have water . . . why don't I drink it? Because then I won't have anything for tomorrow, and I have no idea what's gonna happen tomorrow-_

He suddenly froze, and the pain quickly fled as the motion tracker next to him starting picking something up. Four somethings, actually, moving quickly toward him. He had barely gotten up to grab his pulse rifle when he heard someone banging on the door. The banging then stopped, and he heard Romanian chatter. The voices sounded frustrated.

 _They know I'm here. They must've ran a heartbeat or thermal sweep. Anyone else would've just walked away._ Hudson took a deep breath, feeling everything in his gut become cold with terror. He kept his weapon pointed at the door, watching the metal piece continue to bend.

The banging stopped again, and the arguing started again. Hudson looked at his motion tracker, seeing two of the figures had left, while two others were standing by the door.

If he had any plan of leaving, it was scrapped right then and there.

* * *

Hudson refused to sleep. He kept crouching by the door of the break room, looking down the hall with his pulse rifle. The two insurgents were still outside, waiting for him to either surrender or try to escape. They would pace every so often, making Hudson wonder if he could catch them off-guard and bolt for the woods.

Static started filling his headset, and he heard a familiar voice. The voice of a panicked Dietrich. "Hudson . . . Hudson! Can you hear me?" she breathed.

"I can hear you," Hudson whispered back, struggling to force his emotions back down his throat. "Dietrich, where are you guys? I need help."

"Don't talk, just listen, OK? We're trying. We have an idea of where you are, and we're coming. We're trying to get this Romanian armored division to go with us." Dietrich took a breath, sounding like she was trying not to cry. "Hudson, these insurgents know where you are, too. They have radio sweepers all over. Every time you sent out a signal to us, they picked it up, too. Are you safe?"

"For now, yeah, man. I'm stuck in this abandoned building. The door's welded shut, so they can't just barge in." Hudson swallowed hard. "Dietrich, I got no food, and I'm starting to become dehydrated. I don't have a lot of water left. I'm hungry, man."

"Stay calm, OK? We're doing the best we can. Look . . . the sergeant we're talking to told Apone that these guys might have some kind of gas weapon with the silver flower toxin as its main ingredient. Please be careful. You still have your mask?"

"Yeah." Hudson grabbed the straps of his backpack, pulling it closer to him. "Where's Drake?"

"I don't know. We're trying to find him as well. He's alive, that's all I know."

"Find Drake first. If these guys have silver flower weapons . . . that'll set him off faster than you can fire a shot."

"Get out of there if you can, Hudson. Run west. That's all I can tell you."

She cut out. Hope and relief surged in Hudson's chest, as well as a hint of rage. He was tempted to get up and shoot his way out, but a much deeper-rooted feeling held him back from doing so. It'd be better to be smart, really try to think this through.

 _Silver flower weapon?_ Hudson knew what it was like to be poisoned by the deadly plant, but he wasn't nearly badly traumatized by it as Drake was. Did Drake know about this? Probably not. It didn't sound like Dietrich and the others had gotten ahold of him.

Drake was likely alone. If he came into contact with this supposed weapon, he'd freeze up. He'd be too scared to do anything.

 _I can't let that happen, man._ Hudson took a deep breath, composing his thoughts. _I'm gonna get outta here. I'm gonna find Drake. I don't wanna see him hurt anymore, physically or emotionally._

"How?" was the big question.

* * *

The steady beeping of the motion tracker kept Hudson awake the whole night. When he noticed things getting a little bit brighter, he knew that he had pulled another "all-nighter."

He had stayed awake for nights on end in missions before, but at least there were valid reasons to. He had worked overnight shifts at jobs in Minneapolis. His first night at boot camp was spent without sleep, either.

There were points in his life where he was certain sleep was a dream, or a luxury. He had made the mistake of asking about sleep while in boot camp, and was promptly chewed out for it, being told that he could sleep when he died. The drill instructor kept him up for two days, making sure he had round-the-clock watch in the compartment. He wasn't sleeping, but it was definitely close to a nightmare. The wee hours of the morning were marred with hallucinations. He could see small animals etched in the walls, slowly moving and dancing, sort of like a child playing with a ragdoll. He watched them, somewhat aware that his eyelids were getting heavier.

As he stared at the wall, watching things that weren't there, all background noise was falling away. The only thing left to hear was his own heart, which was slowly beating, steadily filling his ears with the sound of blood rushing through his head. It was oddly relaxing, hypnotic.

The next time he would experience that trance-like feeling was when he got poisoned. Drake had described breathing in the silver flower toxin as like first breathing in regular air, then becoming aware of something tightening around your chest. You feel very lightheaded. You feel nauseated. You start seeing things and hearing voices that aren't there. You become less and less aware of what's actually there. The more you breathe in, the invisible ropes around your lungs tighten harder. Then you pass out, entering a dream almost immediately. The dream doesn't make sense, but at the same time, it's letting you know one thing: you're dying, and you don't have a lot of time before you leave the physical world.

Drake could remember his dreams vividly, while Hudson couldn't. He could remember bits and pieces, but it would probably take a meditative session with Doctor Ranelli to dig up the remaining pieces and put them together to form a much more clear picture as to what he saw when he was hovering above death. And yet, he was aware that they were being subconsciously repressed. At least, that's what Drake suggested when Hudson was having a nightmare about suffocating under snow. He just didn't know how to search his mind to get all the fragments together.

Hudson looked down at his motion tracker. The two figures were still outside, pacing. He felt like this could be his chance to get out. He could take two guys, right? Then again, there could be more hiding in the woods that the range of his tracker couldn't reach. _I sorely underestimated my situation,_ he thought.

He took his canteen out of his backpack, and had a very short drink. He could practically feel the water being the only thing in his stomach, which had given up letting him know that he needed to eat until now; the water was almost a tease, and his stomach grumbled pleadingly for more, preferably with something solid as well. He shook the canteen gently. _I don't have a lot left. Probably just four drops in there, man._

 _That's it. I'm going out there. I'm getting out of here. I can't stay here. If they don't gas me, they'll wait till I die of thirst or starve to death. I'm not going out that easily._ Hudson stood up, slinging his backpack over his shoulders and readying his pulse rifle.

Two more dots appeared on the motion tracker, and Hudson could hear someone shouting orders. He stopped, and listened. Slowly, he backed into the break room, and heard clanging metal coming from the vent above the couch. A minute later, he heard a loud clamping sound, and someone yelling a single word.

A sickly sweet smell began to slowly fill the room.

* * *

 _Question: If Hicks wasn't incapacitated, would Hudson have been rescued sooner?_

 _Author's Note: The one thing I'm worried about with this story is the plot going by too fast. There's only so much that can be done with Hudson being trapped in one small location for a long period time. I could spend more time describing the direness, how he's running out of basic resources, etc., but that can get boring and repetitive quickly, not to mention I don't want to start over-exaggerating.  
_

 _You can imagine how much deeper hearing "seventeen days" would hurt for Hudson given this particular story and experience, except Aliens are much, much worse._


	4. Chapter 4

Hudson's blood ran ice-cold as he caught the faint scent of the deadly flower. He backed away from the vent, throwing open his backpack and yanking out his gas mask. His hands were shaking as he fit the mask to his face, and he was beginning to feel like his brain was full of air. A sense of relief flooded him as he tightened the final straps, and heard the oxygen rushing into the filter.

Despite the relief, Hudson's knees went weak, and he collapsed. His vision was blurred, and he felt like he was going to throw up. With nothing to vomit, the awful clenching and unclenching of the muscles in his gut started up, producing nothing. He lay on the floor, nauseated and dizzy.

A soft gray haze was filling the room very slowly. Hudson couldn't force himself to get up, but he knew that he had narrowly escaped a horrid fate. That didn't mean he got out unscathed. He breathed in something, but it wasn't enough to cause serious harm.

He knew he was safe, because more than five minutes had passed with no hallucinations, no feelings of ropes being pulled around his ribcage. _I can't run. I hope they assume I died, man. I hope they just gas the building and leave. I'll get out . . . I'll get out . . ._ His eyes closed, and he fell into a strange deep sleep.

Was it sleep or was it unconsciousness? Hudson faded in and out, hearing his own breathing, and his heartbeat. He knew, deep down, he needed to leave, but something was telling him to stay and rest. Lay here, sleep.

His head was flooding with various memories. The first to appear was the first night he went out with Miranda. They just got off the Metro from a baseball game. Neither of them were very interested in the game, and they were more interested in each other, getting a feel of each other's chemistry. Now, they had to part ways. Miranda wasn't going to leave without some form of physical contact with Hudson, so she hugged him.

They stood on the platform for some time, a long time, actually. Most hugs aren't supposed to last very long. A long hug is considered intimate, a sign someone wants to be with you. That was all Hudson knew. He watched people move around them, completely ignoring them as they waited for the next train. Then he rested his head on top of hers, running his fingers through Miranda's long and somewhat frizzy brown hair. Despite the noisy ambience, it was quiet. Neither of them spoke, or made a move to end the hug.

"Drake was right. You are a big teddy bear," Miranda said, her voice muffled by Hudson's shirt.

"He said that about me? I'll have to say 'thanks' when I see him," Hudson replied with a smirk. "You're cute, too." He had referred to his previous "dates" as hot, sexy, and gorgeous, but never "cute." Cute had a different meaning. He reserved "cute" for someone he didn't think about fucking. "Cute" was someone who he wanted to sit on a couch with and cuddle. "Cute" was someone who could make him laugh, and was OK with his goofy sense of humor. "Cute" was someone he could take out to dinner and talk about anything with. "Cute" was someone who would give him little gifts every single time she saw something she thought he might like, and vice versa. "Cute" was someone who would adore him despite his flaws.

"When can we see each other again?" Miranda asked.

"I don't know. Me and Drake and Vasquez are all leaving tomorrow. We can write. I know you write to Drake. Wouldn't hurt to tack on a letter for me, too."

"Yeah. We can do that. Um-" Miranda pulled out of the hug, and opened her purse, "let me write my address." She jotted her information down on the blank side of an old grocery list. "Here. I guess . . . this means goodbye."

"Nah. We'll see each other again, man. But, yeah, my train's next and . . . I gotta get going. Tonight was fun, and I wouldn't mind doing it again." Hudson smiled at her.

Standing on her toes, Miranda kissed Hudson's cheek, and threw her arms around his neck one last time. For a moment, Hudson wondered if he heard her whisper, "You're perfect," and that stuck with him long after stepping on the train to go back to Crystal City.

 _She did say I was perfect,_ Hudson thought as his mind became a little less foggy. The squeezing feeling in his gut had stopped, and he found the energy to sit up. He wanted to jump up and run, but he still felt weak. _Give yourself time, man._

He had no idea how much time he had. He wondered if the insurgents were outside, waiting for him to emerge. He hoped they assumed he was killed by the gas.

 _If they have heartbeat sensors, they're gonna know I'm not dead. They're probably waiting out there for me right now._ Hudson mustered a little more energy to stand up, grabbing onto the doorway. He adjusted the straps on his backpack, and grabbed his pulse rifle. His head now felt like a weight had been tied to it as he staggered into the hallway. _There's gotta be a window or something I can just bust out of._ He walked into one of the broadcast rooms, and looked through the blinds. According to his motion tracker, there was no one directly ahead of him. This window could be his only way out.

Slowly and carefully, Hudson unlocked the window. The seals were in need of repair, and wouldn't hold up the window. His arm was shaking with weakness as he held it up himself in order to squeeze out. Any other day, this would've been quick and effortless. _You're almost out._ Hudson rolled out of the window, suddenly in disbelief that he had gotten out of the station. He was tempted to scream in victory, but he knew that was a terrible idea. Not to mention, he didn't even know if this was a victory.

Before anyone could see him, he bolted into the woods, not even bothering to look over his shoulder.

* * *

Having escaped through a west-facing window, Hudson didn't change direction at all as he continued through the forest. He kept glancing down at the tiny compass on his motion tracker, but although he knew he was following Dietrich's command of "run west," he didn't know where else to go. The rest of his unit could've gone anywhere in the three days he was trapped in the radio station.

He pressed his headset, and said, "Is anyone there? It's Hudson. Please respond, man."

"Where are you, you idiot?!" Vasquez shouted.

It was good to hear her angry voice again. "I have no idea where I am," Hudson replied. "Where's Drake?"

"Drake made his way back to us, thank God. We just need you!"

"Can you give me any pointers?"

"Not specific ones. We're being listened to by these creeps. Hicks needs an evac now, but they've got anti-aircraft batteries all over the place. We're trying to get a plan together to get them destroyed."

"Look, I'm doing my best to find you guys, man. I . . . I'm really trying. Can I talk to Drake?"

Hudson heard Vasquez sigh before shutting her receiver off, and he heard Drake's voice loud and clear. "Hey, dipshit! You had everyone worried sick!"

"I was worried about you, man! I went looking for you and I got trapped in an abandoned radio station."

"I know. Dietrich filled me in when I met up with everyone. You know Hicks is hurt, right?"

"Yeah. Listen, Drake, I got some news that you're not gonna want to hear, man . . ." Hudson swallowed. "The terrorists got a weapon that has that silver flower toxin in it. They tried to flush me out of the station with it. I'm OK, but I have no idea if this was a one-time use or if it'll pop up somewhere else."

Drake was silent. "Thanks . . . Thanks for telling me, Hudson. I'll . . . I don't . . ." He took a breath. "I'll . . . I . . . We'll talk later. Just . . . when you reach the end of the woods, head north."

The sad tones of Drake's voice made Hudson's heart begin sinking into the pit of his hollow stomach. He opened his mouth to say something, but stopped when he heard the faint static of their headsets being disconnected. _It was a mistake to tell him._ He kept walking, his heart aching. His exhaustion made it hurt worse, and tears started rolling down his face. _I haven't cried this much in awhile. I shouldn't be crying this much._

It was human to cry. Everyone has tear ducts, and they're there for a reason. The last time Hudson had cried so hard, so often, was in the days and weeks after returning from D.C. with the impression that he and Miranda were starting a long-distance, romantic relationship. He had never attempted a serious relationship. He had never experienced the emotions associated with a serious relationship. They were stunted, and he couldn't express them through writing. They needed to be expressed right then and there, not in the days it would take for his letter to reach Miranda.

So he dumped them on Drake and Vasquez. They were romantically involved; what better people to ask about these weird little things he was feeling? Still, he didn't know how to ask those questions, how to tell them that he was frustrated and scared of this new path he was taking in life. It took him awhile to finally compose himself and tell Drake how he was feeling about Miranda.

It also took him awhile to open up to Vasquez about it. He knew Vasquez didn't like Miranda because of what her and Drake did in D.C., but he also knew that Vasquez probably wouldn't mind her so much now that she was dating Hudson. Either way, Vasquez wasn't a very open person, period. Her only exception was Drake.

Vasquez hated carrying the burden of Drake's PTSD before he finally confessed his problems to Hicks, mainly because she had problems of her own. It was during a period of heated spats between Spunkmeyer and Drake that Vasquez confided in Hudson about not only how she felt, but also her past. Hudson took it to heart, listening to her and letting her know that, although he was the squad doofus, he cared about everyone there. Since then, Vasquez turned to Hudson more often, and he felt like she was glad to have a second outlet.

Hudson repaid her by approaching her about his difficulties with Miranda. Vasquez's advice wasn't the best, and she admitted it was because she wasn't that experienced with dating. "Everyone's . . . heart is wired differently," she said. "What works with me and Drake might not work with you and Miranda. All the advice that says 'this is what makes a girl happy' and 'this is what makes a guy happy' are very general and don't take into account the little specific details of your relationship. Miranda isn't me. I am not her. You need to learn about her and she needs to learn about you. That's what relationships are all about. It's not all about sex. Far from it. Sex is just one piece of your relationship, and it doesn't even need to be there. It all depends on you and her. If you both enjoy it, then do it, but you can't get to that point if you don't take the time to get to know each other and really care about each other. That's the best advice I can give you."

On second thought, Hudson pondered, maybe that was the best advice he had gotten, and he wasn't doing too good of a job at it. Then again, he didn't have a lot of control over that. He had only seen her in person twice, and the second time was a failure. _That's why I'm going to request leave as soon as we go home,_ he thought. _I wanna see her. I wanna keep building what we have. Not giving up. That's why I gotta keep going._

He kept pressing through the woods, murmuring to himself about how he was not going to give up. He could feel his body demanding energy. _If only I didn't puke up that breakfast._ Would that have made a difference, though? Somehow, he didn't think so, but he didn't want to let his building exhaustion catch up to him. The human body was capable of miracles. Surely, he could keep running on fumes, maybe even no fumes at all.

The running and walking and heavy breathing were using up so much energy. It wouldn't be long before he felt like his body truly quit. Or was he overthinking it? Were three days really enough to sap him of everything? He knew it didn't take long for the body to shut down without water, and water was something he didn't have. He drank the remaining drops in his canteen, praying it would be enough to at least get him back to his unit.

The woods weren't that extensive in the east-west direction. Again, Hudson felt like dropping to his knees and screaming when he came to the end of the forest, knowing he was getting closer and closer to his unit. He dropped, but he didn't scream. There was just no energy for it. He pounded his fist against the ground, trying to gather up the last ounces of strength he had. _Come on, you can do it. Get up._ He slowly stood up, and turned north.

A sudden chill snaked up his spine, and he broke into a jog. Something wasn't right. Something was behind him. He glanced over his shoulder, seeing a Romanian insurgent creeping up in the bushes a good distance away from him. The man stood up, shouting while brandishing a rifle. Hudson whirled around, nearly falling backward as he fired. Blood sprayed from the insurgent's chest as he collapsed, and Hudson sprinted away, refusing to look back. He didn't hear anymore shouting, or movement. He hoped he was safe for now.

He didn't stop running, not until he spotted an APC and two tanks ahead of him. Then he broke into a faster run. " _Guys! Drake! Vasquez! Dietrich!_ " More tears ran down his face as he slung his pulse rifle over his shoulder, seeing Drake standing outside the APC with Apone. He loosened his gas mask, letting it hang around his neck before moving it behind his head for room, in order to dash up to Drake and throw his arms around him. He couldn't bring himself to speak; all he could do was gasp for breath and cry as he squeezed Drake tightly.

"Get him inside and have Dietrich look him over," Apone ordered.

"In a second, Sarge," Drake replied. "I think he's very happy to see me."

"I thought you were gonna get yourself killed, man!" Hudson sobbed.

"We were more worried about you. You went and got yourself stuck behind enemy lines, you dumbass." Drake then rolled his eyes, and gave Hudson a pat on the head. "I'm glad you're OK."

"And I'm glad you're OK, too, man."

"Alright, no more of this." Apone began pushing them into the APC. "Go get checked out, Hudson. We gotta catch you up on a few things."

* * *

Dietrich had Hudson sit before opening up her bag and looking over his vitals. She frowned as she checked one thing at time, and sighed before saying, "You breathed in some of that shit, didn't you?"

"A little bit, yeah," Hudson replied.

"That explains a lot. You pulse and blood pressure are really low. You're running a temperature. Everything is a lot lower than what I expect from someone who starved and had very little water for three days."

"Am I in trouble, man?"

"No. Not if we start feeding you and giving you a shit-load of supplements." Dietrich closed her bag, and pulled a ration pack out of a storage box next to her. "Take it slow so you don't upset your stomach."

"We're not getting out of here anytime soon, are we?" Spunkmeyer sighed.

"Not until those anti-aircraft batteries are blown to bits," Drake replied. "I say we plow through their defenses and just detonate the guns ourselves."

"Don't underestimate these guys. You heard what the Romanian commander said: they've got artillery, machine gun nests, EMP weapons, and silver flower gas. They can push us back or blow the shit out of us in less than ten seconds," Ferro said. "I'm sure we can wait a few more hours for the navy to deliver that missile payload."

"Does Hicks have hours?"

"For now, yes," Dietrich replied. "Just don't be disturbing him."

"Don't get your tits in a twist, people," Apone demanded. "If we gotta hunker down in here for a few hours, so be it."

Hudson nearly choked on his food at the thought of being stuck in a small place once again. He glanced around, nervously, and breathed a sigh of relief, knowing that he wasn't going to be alone. Drake patted Hudson's shoulder, a subtle gesture that he knew how he felt.

The hours seemed to go by a little faster with everyone else alongside him. Hudson felt a lot better after getting food and water in his system. The fog in his brain began slowly lifting, and he could feel his thoughts flowing more naturally, more controlled. The appearances of unconnected memories had stopped, and he found himself thinking more clearly, more rationally. He sat back in his seat, taking a silent breath, feeling the newfound energy flowing through his body.

He managed to sleep soundly, especially since Dietrich told everyone to leave him alone. Just let him rest after his ordeal. His dreams were oddly peaceful, until he heard faint yelling and shouting. As he emerged from his sleep, he felt himself being lifted out of his seat, and came around to see Wierzbowski was carrying him. "What's going on, man?" he moaned.

" _Grab Hicks! Somebody grab Hicks!_ " Dietrich hollered.

"Ferro, help me with him!" Spunkmeyer yelled.

Hudson looked over Wierzbowski's shoulder to see the dropship pilots running into the APC. On top of the APC, a figure was jamming a tube into one of the vent shafts.

"Drake, come on!" Vasquez was dragging a dazed-looking Drake away from the APC, joining Wierzbowski behind a Romanian tank. Two soldiers were positioned by the tank's gun, firing at an onslaught of insurgents, who were blending into the dark of night.

Ferro got out of the APC, trying to carry Hicks on her own. She turned back, briefly, and then a sudden, shrill scream pierced through the souls of everyone who heard it. " _SPUNKMEYER, NO!_ "

* * *

 _Question: How does Hudson prove he's more mentally resilient than Drake when it comes to facing trauma?_


	5. Chapter 5

"Spunkmeyer's trapped in the APC."

Hudson looked over at Vasquez, who was holding Drake as he sat in the grass, breathing deeply. At this point, the APC was full of the toxic gas, and Spunkmeyer hadn't emerged. Freeing himself from Wierzbowski's grip, Hudson pulled his gas mask back on, tightening the straps as he ran back to the vehicle. He still felt weak, but his teammate's life was in serious danger. There really was no quitting here.

He could still hear Ferro screaming for her partner as he pushed into the gray haze that had flooded the APC. He could see Spunkmeyer laying on the floor, and knelt to grab him. The pilot was limp, like a ragdoll, and Hudson couldn't feel any pulses coming from him.

 _Is this what Drake felt like when he was rescuing me?_ Hudson thought as he carried Spunkmeyer out of the APC. Bullets flew by him, and he made a mad dash over to where the rest of his unit were taking cover.

A Romanian army commander appeared from behind one of the tanks, and called out to them in thickly-accented English. "Come this way!"

Dietrich and Frost picked up Hicks's stretcher, running with him to where the commander was leading them. Hudson glanced down at Spunkmeyer, who was gasping for breath. His hazel eyes were glassy, and he was shivering. He convulsed as if he was going to throw up. _He's not gonna make it. Jesus Christ, he's not gonna make it._

"Drake, don't do this now!" Vasquez shouted.

Hudson heard a _thump_ in the grass, and turned to see Drake had passed out. "Carry him, man!"

"I can't carry him _and_ my smartgun, you moron!"

Apone raced over, yanking Drake up by his arm. "Get on his left side, Vasquez."

There was an ear-shattering _bang_ behind them. One of the tanks had fired a shell in the direction of the insurgents. The army commander pulled each of the Marines into a second APC, slamming the door shut as soon as the last one was inside. "How many wounded?"

"Technically, four," Dietrich said. "We need to do something now! Spunkmeyer got gassed!"

"Make him sit upright. Start administering oxygen. Anyone else?"

"No. Our corporal got shot. One of our smartgunners is suffering a panic attack, and our combat tech is malnourished."

"Dietrich, I don't think Spunkmeyer's breathing no more," Frost said.

Dietrich made Spunkmeyer lay on the floor of the APC. "Everyone, get as far back into the vehicle as you can go!" she shouted while yanking a pair of defibrillator paddles out of her bag.

There really wasn't far to go, and Hudson had a front row seat of Dietrich slamming the paddles down on Spunkmeyer's chest. He heard a gagging sound behind him, and glanced over his left shoulder to see Drake throwing up. _Poor guy. He's seeing everything he never wants to see again._

Drake tried to take a breath before vomiting again. "I want out," he gasped.

"Everything's gonna be fine," Vasquez said, gripping his arm.

"No. I want out. Get me outta here."

"Dietrich, give him a sedative, right now," Apone ordered, before turning to the army commander. "Look, we've got two men that need hospitals. They need to be airlifted out of here, now!"

"Sergeant, we are waiting for the navy to launch their attack. Then we can start calling in air support." The commander knelt by Spunkmeyer. "He's going to need special attention."

It was at that moment Ferro left her seat, grabbing Spunkmeyer's hand. She was still in shock from seeing him get gassed, and she sobbed hard. Hudson watched the scene unfold, feeling powerless. He started to wonder if he was living in a dream. He started to wonder if he was so exhausted that this was some kind of elaborate hallucination.

He wondered what kind of hallucinations and nightmares Spunkmeyer was having.

* * *

The navy's missile barrage came within fifteen minutes of the unit taking shelter in a Romanian APC. The army commander, Silivasi, began separating the sick from the healthy, aside from Dietrich, who continued to look over Spunkmeyer and Hicks. Hudson and Drake were told to stay with her for observation.

Drake was looking a little better, but he seemed very detached, like he retreated deep into his mind and was refusing to come out until his external environment wasn't so horrifying to him. Hudson stayed by his side, his arm around Drake's shoulder.

Hudson felt someone take his arm, and saw Drake holding his wrist. "I thought I was getting better." Drake swallowed past a lump in his throat. "I'm back to square one."

"No, you're not, man. Spunkmeyer's gonna be OK. We'll be home soon, and you'll feel better," Hudson replied.

Drake didn't respond. He looked down, taking in a somewhat shaky breath.

Once both Hicks and Spunkmeyer were placed in a waiting helicopter, Dietrich jogged over to Drake and Hudson. "Come on, guys. We're getting you out of here."

"Why?" Hudson asked. "I'll feel better once I-"

"You still breathed in some of the gas. You needed to be checked out now."

"What about Drake?"

"Drake is mentally unfit to continue. I think it'd be best if you two stay together."

"Where are we going?"

"You're going to Bucharest. It's possible you might be flown to the States, but we don't know yet."

Hudson's thoughts from being trapped in the station came flooding back. _I hope so. Gives me an excuse to see Miranda._

* * *

Hudson was separated from everyone else again almost as soon as he was brought into a military hospital on the southwest edge of the city. He was taken by a group of doctors to an examination room, and he tried not to think about what happened after being dragged out of a makeshift lab in Australia.

He kept his thoughts focused on Miranda, focused on the possibility that he could be sent to the same location as her. There was a part of him that wanted to walk out of the gate at the airport, see her, and let her run into his arms. That wasn't too much to ask, was it?

His exam was relatively quick. Through a translator, one of the doctors let him know that he didn't need any extensive treatment; the best option was to let the tiny trace of poison be flushed out naturally, which would take roughly three days. In that time, he needed a variety of dietary supplements and vitamins because of how much was being sapped from him in order to get that trace flushed.

Once Hudson was released, he was escorted down to the psychiatry wing, finding Drake being watched by Dietrich. "Is he OK?" Hudson asked.

"He's not letting anyone talk to him. I think you might have better luck," Dietrich said.

"What happened?"

"He does not want to talk to any of the doctors here. At all. And I told him we can drag Ranelli here. So, he's not talking to anyone, and he's not eating or drinking. You do something."

Hudson frowned. "Are you trying to force him to talk?"

"Hudson-"

"I thought you knew that. He won't talk if you push him. Just leave him alone."

Dietrich sighed. "Fine. You're staying with him."

Hudson didn't say another word as he walked into the room, and closed the door behind him. Drake was sitting on the edge of a bed, facing a window. He was looking down, the bone necklace cupped in his hand. "How're you doing, man?" Hudson sat next to him, not expecting much of a response.

"I've been trying to figure out for the last hour or so whether or not this is just a bad dream," Drake replied. "I made the mistake of pinching myself in front of somebody, and they put me on fucking suicide watch."

"I wish I had better news for you, man, but I don't. I'm sorry. I think we're gonna go home, soon."

"We're not. Spunkmeyer's being put in cryo for a flight to D.C. Dietrich told me that Doctor Hornby's gonna look after him. I still don't trust the guy after what he did to you."

"He did alright with Hicks."

"I don't care. He took too long, and he probably gave Hicks some kind of virus that had made him sick for a few weeks. Remember that?"

"Yeah. Does that mean you're going with Spunkmeyer?"

"Sure does. I . . . made Dietrich call Apone, and he said it was fine. I probably need a break anyway."

"I wanna go, too."

"Why?"

"Miranda." Hudson took a breath. "I was thinking about her a lot when I was stuck in that abandoned station, and I just want to spend more face-to-face time with her. I wanna make up for what I did wrong at the Christmas party."

"That's good. It means you're serious about this. I'll be honest, I didn't think you were gonna pull it off."

"Everyone thought that, man. I get it. I've done a lot of stupid things, so that's what people expect me to do."

"In all honesty, you don't have to do what people expect you to do-well, off the job, because if you tell your boss to fuck off, then you get fired. Or, in this case, Apone tears you a couple new assholes. Anyway, the important thing is that you know what you did was stupid, and you're trying to fix it. You have people that support you and are trying to help you. The rest of the world does not have to care. Trust me, I've learned that the hard way. You know you're a different person, and your friends know you're a different person, so that's all that matters. There's no use going out and trying to convince everyone you've changed. A lot of people won't buy it. That need to please everyone because you feel bad, or some other reason, isn't good for you."

Hudson thought for a moment, knowing Drake was right. He also noticed how freely Drake spoke to him. After mulling it over for a bit, he said, "I don't think you sent yourself back to square one, man. If that had happened, I don't think you woulda . . . given me that advice."

Drake sighed. "You're probably right. Maybe I just needed to sit in a room with someone I know legitimately cares and not have my problems diagnosed all over again. Dietrich didn't even bother telling the doctors that I already have post-traumatic stress. Didn't bother telling them anything."

"She's probably worried about Hicks and Spunkmeyer, man. I mean, Hicks is probably gonna be OK. Who knows what's gonna happen to Spunkmeyer."

"He'll be loaded up with drugs that turn him into a monster every time something snaps. That's what'll happen to him. And we just have to deal with it."

"Hey, maybe Hornby's designed a new pill that doesn't have that side effect."

"I doubt it. It'll probably be the same formula he gave Hicks: slower acting hormone, but when it truly 'activates,' it makes him a lot more dangerous."

"Maybe, maybe not. I'm not an expert, man."

There were a few minutes of silence between them. Hudson was staring out the window, unsure of what time it was. The last four days felt like a blur. _Only four days,_ he thought. He'd been on longer missions, some just as intense as this one, but he had never been separated from his entire unit and had to fend for himself while hostile soldiers trapped him in a small building and tried to gas him.

"So, what exactly happened when you ran off on your own?" Drake asked.

Hudson's thoughts stopped, and quickly gathered them up to form a good response. "Well, I went looking for you. I was calling for you, 'cause the radios were down, and I got deeper and deeper into the woods until I realized I was way into enemy territory, man."

"You didn't turn around?"

"Couldn't. I had guys shooting at me from just about every direction. So, I kept running until I found an abandoned radio station. I locked myself in, and . . . stayed. I wasn't sure if I'd be able to get out safely. Didn't have a lot of food or water, but I was thinking that you guys would come for me eventually. Part of me kinda wondered if you were gonna . . . ditch me."

"We would never, _ever_ ditch you. You're our brother."

"Well, I was having a you moment where I was letting the worst things in my head come up. I didn't listen to 'em. I kinda . . . let them come, I guess. I felt them and I told myself that I'd get out eventually. Then, I thought about my past and I thought about Miranda and how much I want my relationship to work."

"How'd you do it?"

"Do what?"

"Turn your thoughts . . . more positive?"

"I dunno. Not all of them were positive. But, it's not like I started panicking or got really depressed over them. I have a lotta regrets, but . . . they don't haunt me like yours haunt you."

"Because you're not suffering from trauma. Because you don't feel guilty all the time for things you've done, and things you didn't do."

"I feel guilty sometimes. Not like you, but, I do feel guilty."

Drake nodded. "Anyway, what else happened when you were lost?"

"Not much, man. I got dehydrated. I got hungry. I was almost gassed. Then I escaped through a window."

A weak smirk crossed Drake's face. "See? You didn't need our help."

"Maybe, maybe not. Would you have needed help?"

"Probably. I've been stuck on my own before, but being in a confined space would quickly deteriorate my mind. I wouldn't stay there very long."

"What exactly did you do out there, man? After I gave you my flamethrower and grenades?"

"Not much, actually. I knew it wasn't gonna help anyone by playing the hero, but I did drive several fuckers deeper into the northeast parts of the woods. They didn't even get a shot off once I put the flamethrower together. Although, one of them did get brave and tried to take me on in hand-to-hand combat."

"Bad idea?"

Drake snorted. "Of course it was a bad idea. I was in prison. I know some dirty moves, and I could probably teach you some of them."

"Really? That'd be great, man."

"I will warn you, though-it's gonna hurt, because it will involve me physically showing you."

Hudson gave a nervous grin. "You can't use a practice dummy?"

"I could, but that's less fun. Vasquez taught me, and since there were no practice dummies, she used me."

"And you survived?"

"Duh. I was very sore for a few weeks, but it was worth it."

Hudson glanced toward the door, seeing Dietrich through the glass. He didn't want to say anything, but figured it was probably better to let Drake know ahead of time. "Hey, man, I think Dietrich's gonna try to get you to talk to the docs again."

Drake looked at the door as well. "Let her know I'm feeling better."

"Are you?"

"Yeah. Well, I still want to get out of here soon, but . . . I feel like I got my ducks in a row again."

"You're sure?"

"Hudson, stop. I'm not lying to you."

Dietrich opened the door, sighing. "Drake, they're not gonna let you go until you talk to someone."

"Tell them to fuck off."

"Drake, that's enough. If you want to get on an early flight to D.C., you're going to talk to the psychiatrist. I've already told them to send a translated form to Ranelli. They're not going to hold you here, OK?"

Drake took a breath. "I want Hudson to come with me. And you know what? Ferro should come, too. That's her partner Hornby's gonna fucking lock up and experiment on-"

"He's not doing any experiments. Spunkmeyer is going to be treated ASAP. Relax." Dietrich gestured outside the room. "Hudson, come get your vitamins. You and Drake will probably be heading out tomorrow morning. I'll phone Apone about tacking Ferro onto your flight."

As Hudson left the room, he watched two men in white coats go in. He half-expected Drake to tell the interpreter to tell the doctor to suck something, but he got silence. "Why would they make him talk anyways?" Hudson asked.

"Protocol," Dietrich replied. "He'd be fine if they didn't put him on suicide watch. Believe me, I don't want to do this to him. He's just very rattled over seeing Spunkmeyer get gassed and me restarting his heart. I get it; that's the number-one trigger for him."

"He got better as I talked to him normally. I know he doesn't believe it, but . . . he is improving. He didn't shut down when I went in there."

"Well, that's good. That doesn't mean he'll continue to get better as time goes on."

"You just don't have any faith in him, man."

"I have plenty of faith in him. All I know is that it's possible for all his symptoms to flare back up over time. To him, it would feel like a setback, which would make him feel like he's failing. You're his best friend, so, I'm ordering you to stay by his side. Try to keep his spirits up."

There was a tiny, somewhat cruel thought worming upward to the surface of Hudson's mind. _Does everything we do have to revolve around Drake? Geez, ever since he got diagnosed, we've been catering to him. Everything he wants, he gets. He's even got privileges no one else in this unit has._

Hudson refused to let that thought go on. For some reason, it felt familiar . . . _Drake felt the same way when he thought people were giving me special treatment after we came back from getting me out of Hornby's lab._

It was awful, and yet it felt completely normal. He didn't understand why.

* * *

Hudson was having bad dreams where he was still stuck in that abandoned station, except the insurgents had busted in and were cornering him in the break room he made camp in. He also dreamt of returning to his unit, only to learn Drake had been killed. Or everyone had been killed, and he was the only survivor of his squad.

He had to be up early in order to catch his flight, but he felt so physically weak that it was difficult to get out of bed. He noticed something glinting on his pillow, and saw a line of silver-colored saliva where his mouth had been. _This shit again. That's great, man._

Forcing himself out of bed, Hudson was beginning to understand what Drake meant when he said there were times where he felt like he was trapped in a cycle. It had been a few years since Hudson had that feeling. In fact, he used to feel it pretty regularly. He remembered feeling like he was going nowhere while living in Minneapolis. He remembered that was a major reason he quit working at the pizza place, but what else was he really qualified to do? The stocking job at the grocery store wasn't really a step in the right direction; it paid less and it was more mind-numbing. He was in the same location, the same building, for several hours. That job lasted less than the delivery job, and it created a major difficulty when he left and tried applying elsewhere.

His third attempt was at a high-end restaurant in downtown Minneapolis. A woman with gray-streaked blond hair and slanted glasses looked over Hudson's resume, and then gave him a stern look. "Why did you leave your previous employers?"

"I . . . needed a change," Hudson replied.

"Was your work environment bad?"

"No."

"Are you looking for a larger salary?"

"Well, yeah, but-"

"But what?"

"I don't feel happy. I mean, the pizza job was OK for a couple months, but then it started . . . getting a little repetitive-"

"So you downgraded yourself to shelf-stocking?"

"I don't think I was thinking . . . too clearly 'bout that."

"Listen, Mr. Hudson, I don't know if you're truly mentally prepared to take on a role here, but, I suggest, if you want something less repetitive and more . . . active, look into the military. My son is in the USCM and he's enjoying travel, not only around the world, but to other planets as well. Think about it."

Hudson thought about it, and within a week, he enlisted. Of course he was happier. Of course this was less repetitive than the jobs he held in the past. He knew there were going to be times where he would be doing nothing, but those times seemed like the _best_ times of his life. That was when he got to hang out with the people he'd made friends with, and he felt like he could talk to them about anything. They were his brothers and sisters.

He was going to be with them for a few more years. He wasn't going to let this stuck feeling persist.

* * *

 _Question: If the crew's performance was up for review, does Hudson deserve any kind of recognition or medal for his actions?_


	6. Chapter 6

No one was given any specific details as to how and when Spunkmeyer was going to be transported overseas. All Hudson knew was that the doctors had no choice but to freeze him because of the long flight-he wouldn't survive under normal circumstances. The risk of toxic discharge was brought up, but someone mentioned that it was easily treatable, and the liquefaction of the poison would make it simpler to extract, lowering the time Spunkmeyer would be under anesthesia.

It was all stuff Hudson didn't understand, but Drake understood fully. After making one last contact with the rest of their unit, Hudson, Drake, and Ferro were transported to an airport, and told not to say anything in public about what happened, just in case spies had been planted. That was fine; none of them wanted to talk about it anyway.

"Are we meeting up with someone when we get to D.C.?" Hudson asked.

"I don't think so," Drake replied. "I have no idea if Hornby or Delhoun or anyone else we might know is gonna be involved."

"Well . . . can I go make a phone call?"

"Sure. I'm gonna go find us a place with food."

Hudson broke away from Drake and Ferro, ducking through a growing crowd of people until he found a small call center. Sitting at a phone, he opened his duffel bag, and a sudden heaviness overcame his heart when he realized that none of his personal items were with him. No one was told to bring anything like a journal or phone numbers or pictures when they got on the plane to Romania-there was no need, and no ones wanted to risk losing anything, since they weren't immediately taken to a base camp when they landed.

It was the little things like that which can bring some form of comfort to a person. Hudson knew this wasn't actually his duffel bag. The clothes inside were freshly issued, not stenciled with his name. All he had were his dogtags, basic military I.D., and driver's license.

He hadn't called Miranda enough times to have her number engrained in his memory.

He wanted to tell her he was coming. He wanted to see her waiting for him at the airport, and smile when she ran into his arms.

He couldn't call her. He couldn't tell her he was coming.

His chest heavy, Hudson left the call center with his head hanging. He found Drake and Ferro sitting in a café, and sat across from them

"Are you OK? You're crying," Drake said.

"I wanted to call Miranda and let her know I was coming. Then I remembered I didn't bring that notebook with her number in it, man."

"You'll see her. We'll have access to the Metro and you can easily get to her university. Besides, she might like being surprised. Hell, I think she'll appreciate it."

"Yeah, you're probably right, man." Hudson looked at Ferro. "How're you?"

"I'm alright, thanks for asking," she replied. "Nervous, that's all."

"Hey, I know you and Spunkmeyer have worked together for a few years. I didn't expect you to break down like that."

"I confide in him a lot. I . . . don't know what I'd do if he died. It's not like you can just find a replacement and expect it to work like a charm. It takes . . . you know, a lot time to get to know your co-pilot and work with them so you fly that dropship safely. You need to trust each other and get a sense of each other. That's just how it works. And we're friends outside of that. I just want to see him as soon as possible."

Drake nodded, completely understanding how Ferro felt. "You will. As long as Doctor Hornby is fucking around."

The conversation ended, and Hudson began focusing on getting a big breakfast, one he hopefully wouldn't throw up a few hours later. He hadn't eaten a full meal in four days, and everything on the menu sounded so much better than the rations he was given.

Four days wasn't a long time, but it felt that way to Hudson. He felt a sudden rush of happiness after taking a sip of coffee. Drake was talking to Ferro about something, but Hudson wasn't paying attention, even though they were right across from him. He was just glad that he didn't have to ration everything put in front of him. It felt so primal, and yet so good, to eat as much as he wanted. Drake was picking at what he ate, as was Ferro, and they both seemed impressed that Hudson was still going strong when they give him what they no longer wanted.

"You're not seriously _that_ hungry, are you?" Drake asked.

"I starved for three days, man," Hudson replied. "This is awesome."

"Just . . . don't make yourself sick."

Hudson ate until the full feeling was slightly uncomfortable. It was a weirdly comforting discomfort, considering it was the polar opposite of how he felt while holed up in the abandoned shelter. He loosened his belt while leaning back in his seat, and held his stomach.

"You're gonna sleep the whole flight, aren't you?" Drake said, a lopsided smirk on his face.

"Probably." Hudson grinned. "I'll sleep into tomorrow, man."

"Do you need help standing?"

"I'm not drunk, man. Hell, it's too early for drinking." Hudson slowly stood, following Drake and Ferro out of the café. There was still an hour until their flight, giving them a chance to walk around, and talk to each other.

Hudson expected Ferro to talk about Spunkmeyer, and her friendship with him, but she steered clear of that. For a moment, Hudson wondered if she was concealing some kind of romantic relationship with Spunkmeyer, but he knew that she trusted Drake, and Drake had even said that she told him people had once thought that she was dating Spunkmeyer. Ferro denied it, claiming that because of the rumors that Spunkmeyer had been underage when he enlisted, she didn't go near that subject with him.

He was definitely over eighteen by now. Maybe things had changed. Maybe she did have feelings for him and that was why she cracked so bad when he got gassed. Maybe she didn't know how to tell him that she liked him.

Or maybe it was because they're just really close friends, no romantic feelings period. After all, Ferro did have a crush on Drake before finding out he was in a relationship with Vasquez, so that likely meant she didn't have a thing for Spunkmeyer. But, that was three months ago. A lot can change in that amount of time.

Frankly, Hudson didn't feel like intruding on Ferro's love life. It wasn't his business, unless she decided to talk to him about it. When the three of them sat near the gate twenty minutes before their flight was announced, Hudson was falling asleep. It felt like he had only dozed off five seconds ago when Drake gently shook him.

"Come on, sleepyhead, we're getting on the plane," Drake said, pulling Hudson up. "Fourteen-hour flight, plenty of time for you to get some shuteye."

* * *

The long flight did seem to go by faster while sleeping through most of it. The deep sleep his body needed to repair itself was coming at a steep cost of nightmares. Hudson continued to dream he was back in the empty radio station, surrounded by hostiles and quickly running low on resources. He'd jolt awake, telling himself it was a dream, and go back to sleep.

It was late February in the States, which meant it was going to be bitter cold and miserable. There was nothing but gray outside the windows as the plane approached the airport. _I'm getting civvie clothes as soon as I get off the plane,_ Hudson thought. _This jacket ain't gonna cut it._ He had heard Hicks complain about the issued jackets before; they were flimsy and offered no protection against the cold, and were more suitable for late spring and early fall weather.

 _Hicks. Hope he's doing OK._ Hudson didn't see the full extent of Hicks's shoulder wound, but he did see the gaping hole in Hicks's armor, and the blood that soaked through Hicks's fatigues. Surely, he had gotten patched up and was in the process of recovering by now.

After the plane landed, Drake got out of his seat to open the compartment above them and grab their bags. He handed Ferro her bag, and let her up first, followed by Hudson.

A part of him appreciated how the city felt a tiny bit familiar. He was no expert on every pathway in Washington, but he had an idea of how to get around. Unfortunately, neither him or Drake had their Metro cards, so they had to buy new ones, plus one for Ferro, at the station under the airport.

"Let's check into the hotel, and then you can go to the university," Drake said. "I'll be bunking with Ferro, if that's OK."

"You have a girlfriend, man," Hudson replied.

"So do you. Besides, we only got two rooms, and there are two beds in each, so, it's not like we're sleeping in the same damn bed." Drake shrugged. "Plus, I don't want her to be alone while she's upset."

"What, you don't think _I_ can comfort her?"

"The only reason you're here is because of Miranda. Not because of me, not because of Ferro, not because of Spunkmeyer. You're here for your own girlfriend."

Hudson felt like he'd been punched in the chest. He imagined Drake was exhausted from the long flight, but he wasn't about to use that as an excuse. He had let Drake push him around before, and wasn't going to this time. "I'm not just here 'cause of her, man." Without waiting for Drake to respond, he started walking down to the platform. He took notice that the Yellow Line was dropping off and picking up passengers. In one stop was Crystal City, but he didn't want to go there just yet. He glanced at a map, seeing Howard University was on the same route.

Before the doors could close, Hudson pushed his way onto the train, just in time to see Drake and Ferro coming down to the platform. He made eye contact with them, and saw Drake mouthing, "What the fuck?"

Hudson sat back in his seat, glancing around at the people riding with him. He wasn't alone, but given that he was separated from Drake and Ferro, he felt alone. He didn't know anyone around him, and for a very brief moment, he saw himself in the forests of Romanian again. His heart was pounding, and he felt weak and nervous. _It'll pass,_ he thought. _You're still a little shaken up. You just need time to relax. Everything'll be fine._

His thoughts wandered as he rode through six more stops before getting to the university. He was sweating; in this weather, it felt like beads of ice rolling down his face and neck. _Maybe I should've stopped and got her a gift._ It was too late now. His stop was next, and it was getting dark out. _Showing up and being a good friend will be enough._ Hudson stood up, grabbing the bar along the ceiling as the train screeched to a halt. He let out his breath as the doors opened, and stepped out onto the platform.

Hudson followed a number of signs to the university complex itself. It was a chore to get in, but at least he was able to get by with his I.D. He approached a lady behind a desk in the visitors' center, saying, "I'm here to see Miranda Harrison."

"One minute," the lady said, picking up a phone.

"Wait. Don't tell her who it is. I wanna surprise her."

"And who are you?"

"I'm . . . her boyfriend."

"Oh." The woman sounded like she understood, and put the phone to her ear after pressing a few buttons. "Miss Harrison, there's someone to see you in the visitors' center . . . No, it's not family . . . No, I can't tell you, dear, it's a surprise." She put the phone down, and looked at Hudson. "Have a seat. She'll be down in a few minutes."

Hudson sat in one of the chairs directly across from the desk. A television in one of the upper corners was broadcasting the weather. Tomorrow was going to be cold and rainy. The rest of the week was going to be cold and rainy. Cold, rainy, and overcast. He hadn't seen any sunlight in several days.

The weather report ended, going into a commercial for a local theater. Hudson turned his head when he heard the door to the waiting area open, and a mix of emotions began swelling in his chest when he saw Miranda standing there, a wide smile on her face as tears rolled down her face.

"This is a joke, right?" she asked.

"No." Hudson got up, and paused when Miranda ran toward him, jumping in his arms. His face flushed, and he found himself crying a little as well. "Hi."

"Hi." Miranda broke away from the embrace, taking Hudson's hand and leading him out of the room. "What are you doing here?"

"Came to see you, obviously," Hudson replied. "It's . . . kind of a long story, man."

"Well, I was just leaving, so, I'll take you to my apartment."

"I thought you lived here on campus."

"Not anymore, thank God."

* * *

Holding Hudson's arm and trying to keep an umbrella over both of them, Miranda was ordering pizza on her phone while walking as fast as she could through the rainy streets. At one point, she looked at Hudson, "Do you want anything on your half?"

"Uh, sausage, if they got it," Hudson said. "I'm not that hungry anyway. Had a big breakfast."

Things slowed down once they entered the lobby of a high-rise apartment building. Miranda closed the umbrella, and walked into the tiny postal room near the front desk. "No mail. Good." She kept holding Hudson's arm, and walked with him to the elevator. As they rode up, she glanced at him again. "Are you alone?"

"Not really. I'll explain when we get to your apartment. Not something I can talk about in public."

"Ah."

The elevator stopped, and they walked out into the hall. Her arm still looped with Hudson's, Miranda pulled a set of keys from her pocket, and unlocked the door to her apartment. Once they were inside and the door was closed behind them, Miranda dropped the keys on a hook by the counter of a kitchenette, and took Hudson's face to kiss him. "I'm sorry. I didn't want to, you know, have that sappy, romantic moment with you while we were still at the college."

"That's OK. I get it." Hudson weakly grinned. "Anyway, I'm sorry I dropped by unexpected. I wanted to call ahead of time, but . . . I left your number at base." He started explaining what had happened over the last several days, stopping only once when the delivery guy came with the pizza, then they sat on the couch while he finished telling his story.

Miranda thought for a few moments, and gave Hudson a confused look. "So, they just dropped you, Mark, and your pilot off at the airport with nothing but your I.D.s and money and spare clothing and tickets to D.C., and that was it?"

"Pretty much. No arguments or anything like that. We're here until we get some kind of update on Spunkmeyer."

"Is Mark doing OK?"

"So far, yeah. He's a little rattled, but OK." Hudson took a breath, glancing at Miranda. "I . . . thought about you a lot when I was stuck in that station. When I wasn't fearing for my life, I was thinking about you and about my past and . . . I missed you. I swore I was gonna ask for leave as soon as I got outta there, because I wanted to see you."

"You know why that's kinda funny?"

"Why?"

"I was thinking about you the last couple days as well. I haven't told anyone about what happened at the Christmas party. Not a soul. Except my android, Mathias, because I know he can keep a secret. He's in for maintenance right now, but, anyway . . . yeah, I just . . . haven't told anyone. I don't want to."

"Look, if you don't want to, don't, man. It's OK. Only Drake and Vasquez and Hicks know, and they're cool."

"Well, I know I can trust Mark, so I'm not mad."

"Yeah, anyway, I . . . I really want this relationship to keep moving in the right direction. That's what I was gonna say, and it's all I was thinking about. I hope we can look at the drunken sex as a mistake and just move on. Make better memories."

Miranda nodded. "That sounds like a good idea. I mean, if you want . . . maybe you can stay the night. You don't _have_ to go back to the hotel, do you?"

Hudson shrugged. "I got into a little spat with Drake, but, it wasn't anything too major. He probably registered me in." He smirked. "Even if we argue, he's still a good buddy. Yeah, I'll stay the night. I'm not so sure about . . . you know, whether or not you're implying we do something, but-"

"Let's see how we both feel later."

"OK. Makes sense." Hudson glanced at the floor, then back at Miranda. "How've things been going with you?"

"So far, so good. As you can see-" Miranda did a sweeping motion with her hand, "I have my own place now. No more living on campus. I'll be starting work a couple weeks after I graduate."

"Good for you." Hudson paused, suddenly realizing something. "So, does that mean you'll have less time to talk to people?"

"It sure does. We're doing this long-distance anyway. We can still write. Always have time for that, and I'll do my best to see you whenever you visit. I don't think there's going to be a lot of change in that department. Other than that, absolutely nothing. I'm just glad I'll be leaving the university in a few months. Won't have to get up and deal with certain people anymore."

"I'd think you'd have to deal with far worse as a doctor."

"That's true. At least the people at the hospital I'm gonna work at are nice. I even told them about you, and showed them a picture."

"And what do they think?"

"Well, one nurse said, 'He's really a Marine?' and I said, 'Yeah, Will's a private in the USCM.' She said, 'He looks like a goofball.'"

"She's not wrong, man." Another thought from his time in the station struck Hudson. "Hey, can I ask you something?"

"Sure."

"Remember when . . . you were hugging me on the platform the first night we went out, after we got back from the baseball game."

"Yeah. What about it?"

"Did you whisper, 'You're perfect?'"

Miranda paused, and stood up to grab some drinks from the fridge. "If memory serves me correctly, then . . . yes, I did say you're perfect. I kinda had this feeling that you were going to be a step above the other guys I've dated in the past-"

"Even Drake?"

"Alright, I don't count Mark. Never. He is classified as a friend, and will stay as such."

"Aw, come on, you still had a crush on him."

"Well, not anymore. He's got his own girlfriend, and now I have you, and I think you're better."

"Really?"

"You're adorable." Miranda placed two glasses and a bottle of wine on the coffee table, and then pinched Hudson's right cheek, smiling. "You make me laugh. You're very thoughtful. And I'm not that fond of facial hair-" she touched his soul patch, "but this is OK."

"I put no effort into that whatsoever." Hudson looked at the wine. "That's the only alcohol you have?"

"I have canned margaritas in the freezer. I save those for summer. And I've got vodka, but that's for cooking."

"You do a lot of your own cooking?"

"When I have time, yeah."

"It's been a few years since I've had a home-cooked meal. Drake's taking classes for it, and he's actually pretty good." Hudson snorted. "Don't tell him I said that, though. He kinda sees it as a survival skill and nothing more."

"Well, it's something he should be proud of."

"Good luck convincing him of that."

Miranda pulled the cork out of the bottle, and poured Hudson's glass first. "I know you're not much of a wine person, but that's all I got. Cheers."

Hudson picked up his glass. "Cheers, man." It felt good to drink a little after everything that had happened, but he wasn't letting it go to his head. "What else do you do in the evening?"

"What any other normal person does when they live alone: finish dinner, do the dishes if need be, take a shower, and watch TV until I get bored. Tonight, though, I get to spend some time with you." Miranda grinned as she tapped Hudson's nose.

A touch of excitement had shot up Hudson's spine. "OK. Whatever you want, man."

After storing the rest of the pizza in the fridge, Miranda disappeared into the bathroom to shower, leaving Hudson by himself in the living room. He gazed out the window, watching traffic below as people rushed home from work. The sky had darkened significantly, and the rain was steadily becoming a light drizzle. He felt almost completely content. He felt like that night was going to go well.

Then again, he thought that about the Christmas party.

 _No. Tonight really is gonna go well. You're not drunk, you're not gorging yourself. You're sober and thinking clearly._ Hudson adjusted his posture on the couch, continuing to stare outside.

Ten minutes later, Miranda came out of the bathroom, wearing a purple plush robe. "Your turn."

"Alright." Hudson grabbed his duffel bag. "Are there any rules for your bathroom?"

"Not really. Just don't make a mess."

"Sure thing. I'll be quick." Hudson brought his stuff into the bathroom, which was a little larger than he expected. He glanced around as he undressed, noticing how clean and neat the room was. There were a lot of cute decorations on Miranda's sink, like the kitten soap holder, and the ceramic rabbit holding the toothbrush and toothpaste. There were tropical flowers on the shower curtain, and pictures of lush jungles and tropical cities next to the closet, which was full of soft towels, shampoos, body wash, conditioners, feminine hygiene products, and, of course, a big rubber duck.

Hudson couldn't resist the urge to pick up the duck and squeeze it a couple times. A second later, he heard a laugh, followed by Miranda calling, "Are you playing with my duck?"

"Maybe," Hudson replied, his face turning red. "It's got a nice, clear squeak, man." He got no response to that, and proceeded to take his shower after putting the duck back.

He emerged from the bathroom wearing a fresh pair of shorts and a T-shirt-that was all he had in terms of nightclothes-and returned to the living room. "I did my best to keep that room clean."

"Aren't you cold?" Miranda stood up.

"A little. It's OK. I can-"

"No, you can borrow one of my robes." She jogged into her bedroom, and opened her closet. "Here. I think this one's big enough."

"I can't do that to you, man."

"It's washable. Wear it, I don't want you catching a cold."

"OK, OK. Now, what's your plan for the evening?" Hudson asked while tying the waistband.

"I don't have one. What do _you_ want to do?"

Hudson thought back again to the abandoned station. "Well . . . I . . . we can . . . sit on the couch and snuggle?"

Miranda didn't ask any questions, and smiled as she walked with him back out to the living room. She let him sit first, and then cuddled up to him, kissing his cheek. "I love you."

 _It's not too soon for "I love you," is it?_ That was one question Hudson never bothered to ask Drake. Miranda always said "I love you" at some point or another in her letters, so Hudson figured it would be OK for him to finally say it as well. "I love you, too."

* * *

 _Question: Does the sudden change of atmosphere (action and stress to slice-of-life and calm) work in helping the development of Hudson's character?_


	7. Chapter 7

A woman was getting close to winning a million-dollar prize on a game show, but neither Hudson or Miranda were paying any attention. The TV was on for background noise at this point. Hudson was holding Miranda tightly as they kissed, almost laying flat against each other.

They were warm, but not hot, despite the heavy robes they were both wearing. They had been pressing closer and closer the longer they snuggled, nuzzling each other's face, until they became locked in a passionate kiss.

This was what Hudson dreamed about while trapped in that station, and now he was finally living it. He wished that this was what the Christmas party had been like. _That was in the past, man. Live in the now. You're doing it right._ He wasn't drunk out of his skull. He was happy. Blissfully happy.

At one point, Miranda reached over to grab the remote, and turned off the TV just as the woman on the show was getting her giant check for one million dollars. "I'm ready for bed," Miranda whispered.

"Yeah. I'm ready, too," Hudson replied, sitting up. "Are we . . . gonna do it?"

"Have sex? If you want."

"Well, do you want to?"

She nodded.

Hudson shrugged. "OK. Uh . . . well . . . if you got . . . some kinda protection, I guess . . . 'cause I don't wanna-"

"I know. I got it. Don't worry." Miranda stood up, grabbing the wineglasses to put them in the sink. "Are you OK? You look a little flustered."

"I'm alright," Hudson replied.

"We don't have to do this if you don't want to."

"No, I want to do this. It's just . . . I really haven't done this the right way in a long time, and . . . I'm worried that . . . I won't be very good."

Miranda smiled. "Aww, Will, there's no need to be worried about that. Believe me, I'm not at all experienced with this, so, how should I know how good someone is in bed." She patted Hudson's cheek. "Besides, it's not a competition. I won't be telling my friends that you're an awful partner."

For some reason, Hudson felt like that wasn't the true source of his anxiety. He decided not to worry about it after freshening up a little, and heading into Miranda's bedroom. She was already in bed, and her robe was hanging on a post at the foot of the bed. Hudson took off his robe as well, draping it on the other post.

"Take off your shirt," Miranda whispered.

"What?"

"Your shirt. Take it off."

Hudson shrugged, and pulled his T-shirt off. "You wanna fool around before we get this show on the road?" he queried.

"Just a little." Miranda slowly ran her finger down the line of hair on Hudson's torso, stopping just below the end of his sternum. She gently gripped his sides, right under his ribcage.

Hudson felt the muscles in his back and stomach tense up. "Whatcha doing there, honey?"

"Nothing. You know, I know a place where you can get waxed."

"Lemme think about it, OK? Um-" Hudson twitched, "I'm kinda ticklish, man, so don't get too comfy down there . . . and your fingers are cold."

"Oh?" Miranda grinned while rubbing her hands together. "Thanks for telling me."

"Alright, if you're gonna do that, you have to tell me what spot you don't like being touched."

"I'm not telling you."

"Then you can't touch my belly."

Miranda sighed. "Fine. It's the back of my neck. I hate it. Even if someone's hands are warm, that area always feels cold."

"Right. Now the playing field is even." Hudson moved to touch the back of Miranda's neck, only for her to start massaging his ribs, then his sides, and finally his stomach. He was certain he was going to hate that feeling, but it wasn't like she was just using her fingertips. She was using her whole hands, slowly rubbing and pressing upwards against his flesh. As weird as it felt, it was making his heartbeat slow down. "I can't decide if I like this or not." Of course, he felt slightly ashamed for liking it.

"Well, you're all tense, and you need to relax. I did take a massage therapy class to fill space this past semester."

"Wouldn't you rub my shoulders, then?"

"Not necessarily. There are other spots on the body that can release tension when given a good rubdown. Do you want your shoulders massaged next?"

"I'll think about it." Hudson sighed, contentedly, having forgotten whatever it was that he was worrying about earlier. Of course, he pitied Drake for not being able to let go of his problems for more than a few minutes, but why worry about him now? Why worry about _anything_ now?

That was one of the few things on his mind as he leaned in to kiss Miranda. As he did, he snaked his hand under her head, letting his fingers gently brushing her nape. She tensed up beneath him almost instantly, and shivered as he stroked the hair going down her neck. She moved her hands around to his back, and returned to his sides to hook her thumbs in his pants.

* * *

The weather report last night said that the coming week was going to be cloudy and rainy. The sun was still trying its best to pierce through the grayness, and managed to send some rays of light through the tiny cracks that appeared within the clouds. It was enough to send some light through the window blinds, prompting Hudson to blink when he awoke.

He was covered in red marks and lines from laying on wrinkled sheets, and there were small bruises on his neck and shoulders (they weren't his first hickeys, but at least he wasn't drunk when he got them this time). Overall, he was sore, mainly because he didn't give his body a lot of time to recover after the battles in Romania, after being trapped in that empty station, after a long flight where he remained stuck in one position for hours.

As his mind continued to wake up, he began to feel very self-conscious, and somewhat ashamed. This wasn't how he wanted to feel after all he had been through. He wanted to be content and happy, accepting the past as it was and leaving it alone. At the same time, he felt like that wasn't the problem, either, and he couldn't put his finger on it yet.

"Good morning."

Hudson turned to see Miranda stretching as she woke up. She was smiling at him, and then put her arms around him.

Then she noticed the look on his face. "What's the matter? Why do you look so sad?"

"I don't . . . I don't know. I . . . I guess I'm overthinking last night."

"Why? Did I do something wrong?"

"No. I think . . . I did something wrong. Like . . . the massaging before we, you know, did it. I think I shoulda been more firm in saying 'no.'"

"How come? You were actually enjoying it."

"Yeah. That's the problem. I don't want . . . I don't want our relationship to be . . . what's the right word?"

"Too much about sex?"

"Exactly. I've . . . I've already done that, and it was wrong, and I don't think that's gonna get us very far. I told myself, the whole time I was stuck in that damn station, I didn't want our relationship to become no different than any of my other 'relationships.'"

"Will, hang on just one minute. Our relationship already is different from any of your other relationships. It's already different from any of my previous relationships. Just because we had sex and we goofed around a little bit beforehand doesn't mean that . . . that this is going to become purely about . . . what we do in bed. It's just one small part of a much bigger picture. Besides, I had fun last night. Isn't that something that matters?"

"You don't feel ashamed?"

"Sweetie, I'm not going to tell everyone what we did. This kind of stuff stays between us. It wasn't like the Christmas party." Miranda gently cupped Hudson's face in her hands. "And it's not like we're going to do this very often anyway, OK?" She let go, looking in his eyes for a minute. "I feel like there's something else bothering you right now. That's why you've been a little anxious."

"Well, I do feel bad for ditching Drake and Ferro. I really shoulda just talked to Drake before leaving. Then again, I'm glad I met up with you when I did, because . . . I dunno, ever since I got sent to Bucharest and then flown here, I . . . I've wanted to just be alone. Not like alone and stuck, but . . . you know, alone and able to do what I want." Hudson took a breath, a number of thoughts suddenly coming back to him. "Last night, when I was heading to the university to see you, I had this really awful feeling on the train. I got scared, because I was alone, and surrounded by people I didn't know. It was like I was back in Romania, alone, and surrounded by hostiles."

"This was, what, a couple days ago?"

Hudson nodded.

"I think you'll have that feeling for some time, and then it'll fade away. Best thing to do is talk to people about what's going on, prevent it from becoming a bigger problem." Miranda ruffled Hudson's hair. "Look, I don't have to go anywhere today, so, we can stay inside, or go somewhere, whatever. I'll even go with you if you want to check on Mark."

"You would? Gee, thanks. That . . . That means a lot." Hudson weakly smiled, starting to feel that annoying weight lift from his shoulders.

"No problem. Now-" Miranda gently tapped Hudson's nose before kissing him, "I'm guessing you want breakfast."

"Maybe . . ." Hudson pretended to be indecisive.

"Oh, stop!" Miranda swatted him with a pillow. "I know you. I'm making pancakes for you. Just let me take a quick shower and get dressed first."

"Is there anything you want me to do?"

"You're my guest. You don't need to do anything." Miranda got out of bed, grabbing a change of clothes before heading into the bathroom. She paused just outside the door. "Actually, can you get the large pan and the pancake mix out for me? Thank you."

"Sure. Where are they?"

"The pans are in the cabinet next to the stove. The mix is in the cabinet next to the refrigerator, on the right side."

"Got it." Hudson opened his duffel bag, pulling out a pair of utility trousers. _I should've gotten civilian clothes before meeting Miranda. Oh, well. That's something we can do together._ He adjusted the pants and belt before going into the kitchen. As he opened the cabinets, he jumped when the silence of the morning was shattered by sirens. He glanced out the window, seeing an ambulance, trailed by two military vehicles.

Somehow, he knew it had something to do with Spunkmeyer.

Hudson's thoughts crept back to his argument with Drake. " _You're not here for Spunkmeyer_ ," Drake had said. Deep in his heart, Hudson knew that was wrong. He was worried about Spunkmeyer. He knew what he was going through, and he prayed that his treatment was smooth and painless.

When the sirens died down in the distance, Hudson went back to getting things out for Miranda. He set the box of pancake mix on the counter, and the large pan on one of the burners on the stove. He didn't want to look like a lazy guest, so he searched around for stuff to make coffee. He had just filled the coffeemaker with grounds and water when Miranda came out of the bathroom, her hair still slightly wet.

"Thanks for doing that, Will," she said, looking at the coffeemaker. "You're so sweet."

A small grin tugged at the edges of Hudson's mouth. "Anything else?"

"Nothing I can think of."

"I got an idea of something we can do today."

"Sure, what is it?"

"Well, I really don't want to go around wearing a uniform that isn't even mine. I want to go get some civvie clothes."

"OK. We can do that after breakfast. Do you want blueberries or chocolate chips in your pancakes?"

"Let's go with the blueberries, man." Hudson looked out the window again, seeing rain start running down the glass. "Good thing you got a subway. No one wants to walk in this shitty weather."

"Got that right. Is Mark at the Crystal Gateway hotel again?"

"Yeah, why?"

"There's a couple of clothing shops in the mall. Maybe we can get you a change of clothes, and then go see him."

"Is there . . . a reason you wanna see him?"

"We're friends. Is that bad?"

"No. I just hope he's in a better mood compared to last night."

"It's Mark. Is he ever in a good mood?"

"You do have a point, there, sweetheart-hang on, do you like 'sweetheart?'"

"I don't care. Sweetie, sweetheart, honey. Whatever you think fits. And I think you should reserve 'man' for your friends."

"Right, man." Hudson grinned, which earned him an eyeroll.

* * *

They did have to walk a little before getting to a Metro station, and Miranda only had one umbrella. Hudson held the umbrella and pressed Miranda close to him as they walked in the rain, not allowing her to get wet. When they stopped at a crosswalk, Miranda looked up at Hudson, saying, "Should we have that clichéd kiss in the rain?"

"Why?" Hudson asked.

"To see if it's as good as the movies make it out to be."

"OK." Hudson took away the umbrella, letting them both get soaked.

"Dammit, Will! My glasses!"

"You said you wanted to do the rainy movie kiss." Hudson put the umbrella back up, and kissed Miranda. He felt her squeeze him, and then they pulled away. "Not very romantic, is it?"

"Not really. I'm cold and wet now."

"I can see that." Hudson opened his arms. "Hug me. I'm warm."

The two began to dry off once they were underground at the Metro station, but Hudson spent the ride to Crystal City using his shirt to dry Miranda's face and rub her arms dry.

"What are you doing, Will? Stop," Miranda muttered.

"Trying to get you dry. I don't want you catching cold, pumpkin."

"With your shirt?" She sniffed his shirt, and then looked at him. "You used my body wash, didn't you?"

"Well, I didn't exactly have my own. I'm sorry."

"I'll bet Mark's first word to you will be 'weenie,' then."

"Oh, his vocabulary goes beyond 'weenie,' but he's moderately polite around girls who aren't Vasquez, so, it'll probably be 'weenie.'" Hudson sniffed his shirt. "You know what? We'll stop and get some manly cologne. I don't feel like being called a weenie today."

They took their time with leaving the station to head up to the mall. Hudson wasn't at all picky about where he wanted to get his civilian clothes from, and was pretty quick with grabbing some shirts and sweaters and jeans from a clearance rack. As he approached the checkout counter, he noticed a woman with short, blonde hair and a utility uniform looking at him.

"You on leave?" she asked.

"Uh . . . sorta? It's . . . It's a long story," Hudson replied. His heart skipped a beat when he noticed the corporal emblem on the woman's sleeve.

"If you're not on leave, you can't wear civvie clothes. That's the rules."

"This isn't even my uniform."

"Doesn't matter-wait, not your uniform?"

"Like I said, it's a long story."

"You know, I've got some time. Tell me what happened. Why aren't you wearing your own uniform?"

Hudson glanced at Miranda. "D-Do you mind if I talk to this lady for a few minutes?"

"Sure, go ahead," Miranda replied.

Hudson walked with the corporal outside to an alleyway leading to an empty section of the mall. "Alright, you know about what's going on in Romania, right?"

"Yes," the corporal replied.

"OK, well, my unit was there, and we had . . . some difficulties. I got separated, our corporal got shot in the shoulder, one of our smartgunners suffered a panic attack, and our dropship co-pilot got gassed with a silver flower weapon. It's bad. He was sent here for treatment, and me and my smartgunner friend got sent here, to recover and be with him when he's feeling better. We couldn't bring our personal stuff or extra uniforms, so the Romanians and the USCM just gave me spare clothing and sent us off. Does that answer your question?"

"Where are you stationed?"

"Spain."

"Is your sergeant with you?"

"No."

"Who's your corporal?"

"Corporal Hicks."

The questions stopped. The woman was looking at the floor, seemingly struggling to maintain her expression. "Dwayne Hicks, right?"

"Yeah. You know him?"

"I do know him. We . . . I . . . That's a long story as well. We were . . . We weren't in the same unit together, but-"

"What's your name?"

"Carlisle. It's Paige Carlisle." She looked back up at Hudson. "Is he OK?"

"I don't know. I would assume he got treated, but, I don't . . . know."

"Was he sent here as well?"

"No. As far as I know, he's still in Romania. Are you OK?"

"Trying to put on a brave face, Carlisle again attempted to make eye contact with Hudson. "He never said anything about me to you?"

"Who, Hicks? N-No . . . he never mentioned you at all." _Or he did, and I'm just too stupid to remember._

"I guess he gave up, then." Carlisle covered her face, whispering, "And it's my fault."

It took Hudson a moment to put all the pieces together. "Were you and him . . . dating?"

Carlisle nodded. "Not for very long. I . . . I don't want to assume anything, but, you know about what happened to a friend of his, General Paulson?"

"He committed suicide, yeah. Hicks didn't take it very well."

"OK. I stayed with Hicks-we met at an airport in Alabama when we were heading to Paris for Christmas-after Paulson died, because of how depressed Hicks was. We did . . . fall in love, in a sense, but his problems were a lot more overwhelming. That didn't stop us from trying, and when he finally got word of a new unit wanting him, we kept in contact with each other. Not for very long, though. My unit got sent to LV-109, where we didn't have a lot of contact with civilization. Then we came back and I found a bunch of letters from Dwayne. I was exhausted. I didn't feel like responding right away. Other stuff came up-personal stuff that I'm not telling you-and I chose not to talk to anyone. I ended up getting one more letter from him, and he sounded worried, concerned, afraid that he had done something to upset me. That . . . wasn't the case at all, but I was so upset at the time that I decided he wasn't the right person to talk to anymore. And that was it. The letters stopped. I haven't thought about him in years."

Hudson was quiet, trying to digest everything he heard. He had always assumed Hicks had no love life, that he was a proper virgin. This definitely came out of left field, or it was a massive coincidence that he was running into someone from Hicks's past. His first instinct was to tell Hicks, but then he remembered he had no idea where Hicks was, or what was happening to him. "Do you want me to tell him that you're still around?"

"I don't know. Who are you? I'll . . . keep you in mind in case I decide I want to start talking to him again. I'm not sure I want to say anything directly to him."

"Private Will Hudson. I'm sorry this all happened, man. I-I won't say anything if you don't want me to."

A weak smile appeared on Carlisle's face. "Thank you. It's up to you if you want to say anything or not. I don't . . . I don't care." She turned and walked away, looking down and hunched in on herself like she wanted to avoid talking to anyone else.

Feeling like he had the wind knocked out of him, Hudson went back into the store, seeing Miranda had paid for his new clothing. "Sorry that took so long, pumpkin."

"Who was that?" Miranda asked. "Someone you knew?"

"Someone Hicks knew. They kinda-sorta used to date, and . . . I guess things're a little complicated between them."

"Poor things." Miranda handed Hudson a large plastic bag. "Here's your stuff. Go get changed, if you want." She watched him head toward a changing room. "Are you planning on telling Hicks?"

"I don't know yet." Closing the door behind him, Hudson knew this meant he had been tossed back into reality. He was back to being the guy who kept all the secrets. It was like someone threw an extra backpack on his shoulders, on top of all the stuff he kept hidden for Drake and Vasquez and Miranda. He knew his loyalty was one of his good traits, but there was a small part of him that felt like that was the only good trait he had to fall back on.

* * *

 _Question: How would Drake respond if he encountered Carlisle and learned about her relationship with Hicks?_


	8. Chapter 8

"Are you OK? You got quiet."

Hudson glanced at Miranda. "I'm alright. Thinking, that's all."

"About what?"

"About whether or not I should say something to Hicks about . . . his old girlfriend being here and wondering about him. I mean, is it any of my business?"

"He is your friend, right? I think you should tell him."

Hudson didn't answer as they approached the front desk of the hotel. After getting the information he should've gotten last night, he was told where Drake and Ferro were, because they had the extra key for his room.

In the elevator, Hudson was prepared to deal with Drake. He knew his friend was probably in a very foul mood and tried to mentally rehearse what he was going to say. He didn't have a lot of time for that when the elevator opened to the eighth floor, and he and Miranda walked down to where Drake and Ferro were staying.

Miranda rested her head on Hudson's shoulder while he knocked on the door. She gave him a reassuring squeeze as the door opened, and a half-asleep Drake was standing in front of them.

"What?" he asked.

"I came to say 'sorry,' man," Hudson replied.

"Why?"

"Last night. Remember, you said I wasn't here for Spunkmeyer-"

"Oh, that. Yeah, I'm not worried about that anymore. Ferro and I talked about it when we got here. Come on in."

"Hi, Mark," Miranda said.

"Hey. Was he annoying you? Is that why you came here?" Drake snorted.

"No. We've been having a lot of fun together."

Hudson's face flushed red.

"Ah." Drake nodded. "I get it. No need to say another word." He winked at them.

"We came by just to see how you guys were doing," Hudson said. "And if you heard anything 'bout Spunkmeyer."

"Unfortunately, we haven't heard much of anything, but I'm pretty sure that ambulance and convoy vehicles we saw a couple hours ago had something to do with him. I haven't seen Hornby or Delhoun or anyone else who looks like they might be involved."

"Well, that sucks."

"Really does. I'm worried, and so is Ferro."

"Silver flower treatment always takes a lot of time. Even the newer methods take more than three days to get results of any kind," Miranda said.

"And let's not forget this stuff has been mixed with other chemicals to make it a weapon, so that'll create a fucking hassle." Drake looked out the window, then back at Hudson. "You OK?"

"Yeah, why?" Hudson asked, realizing his mind was wandering back to Carlisle and Hicks.

"You look kinda pained about something."

"I . . . well . . . I . . . C-Can I talk to you somewhere private?"

Drake nodded, and walked with Hudson out into the hall, to a small sitting area offering a wide view of the city. "You and Miranda aren't fighting, are you?"

"No, not at all, man. Everything's great between us, honest. Hell, last night, I feel like we made up for what happened at the Christmas party."

"Lemme guess: you had sober sex?"

"Yeah." Despite how Hudson didn't want to tell anyone about what happened the previous night, he felt like he could trust Drake with it. "We kinda fooled around beforehand, man."

"Ah, foreplay." Drake smirked. "I can see that with you."

Hudson blushed a little. "It was massaging, that's all. She doesn't like the back of her neck touched, and I don't like my stomach touched, so . . . well, actually, I don't like when someone's got their cold fingertips on me."

"Nobody does. Warm water doesn't work, by the way, because it just dries too quick, gets cold, and being wet can be uncomfortable, sometimes. Did she try that?"

"No. She just rubbed her hands together, and used her whole hand instead of only her fingertips."

"Were you lying down, or on top?"

"On top. That's how it's supposed to be, right?"

"No, you can do it the other way around, especially if you're getting the massage. Did you like it?"

"At first, it felt a little weird, and then I liked it after a few seconds."

"Be careful with that. She'll use stuff like that to get her way in any argument you can think of."

"Does Vasquez do that with you?"

"No. I managed to prove that I have a very thick skull and no amount of arguing or bribery or nuzzles is gonna change that."

"I imagine you two are gonna have an interesting marriage, man," Hudson muttered.

"Better than a boring one. I look forward to it, even if it'll take a few years to get there." Drake weakly smiled. "So, you put your mishap in Norway in the past, and you enjoy that kind of time with Miranda. Is that all you wanted to talk about?"

Hudson shook his head. "There's more, man. We went to a store in the mall downstairs, and a corporal asked if I was on leave because you're not supposed to wear civvie clothes if you're not on leave. Anyway, I had to explain what was going on, and she asked who my corporal is, and I said, 'Corporal Hicks.' The look on her face changed, and she started telling me that she knew him when his friend died. She was trying to help him pull through his grief, and they fell in love and they wrote to each other, and then they kinda stopped communicating. She's not sure she wants to see him again. I don't know what's going on with Hicks right now, and . . . I'm kind of afraid of what he'll say if I tell him."

"Why?"

"What if he shuts down on me, man?"

"That's not your fault. They should work it out on their own. Tell you what, I'll talk to him about it." Drake adjusted his posture. "Was that what was bothering you so much? You just seemed . . . really disinterested in what we were talking about in the room."

"It was. It-It's not because I don't care about Spunkmeyer. After . . . After talking to whatshername-Carlisle-I had this overwhelming feeling of . . . 'I just had a wonderful time with my girlfriend, and now I'm being shoved back into my regular life. I'm back to being . . . the secret-keeper for everybody,' and I don't like that."

"You feel like you're good for nothing else?"

"Kinda, yeah."

Drake was silent for a moment. "I get it. Trust me when I say it's not true, and that there're a ton of other things you're good at. You're the combat technician for crying out loud. I didn't think you were smart enough for that when I first met you. I'm still surprised whenever you play around with tech and hack into security systems or devices and stuff like that. Was that the only job available to you when you enlisted?"

"No. I didn't want to do heavy weapons and I wasn't smart enough for medical. I have no experience with androids, I didn't want to pilot anything, and I didn't want to do field journalism or stuff like that. My recruiter said that I'm going to be passed over for a long time before anyone ever puts me in a squad if I do just infantry. I said, 'I'm not good enough for anything else. I'm really not.' Someone else there-another recruiter, I think-looks over and says, 'There's an opening in com-tech. Put him in.' I was so scared that I was gonna wash out of my training, after boot camp. Combat technician, that's a smart guy job. I'm not gonna make it. Turns out, I was better than I thought I was; I just needed to sit down and actually mess around with stuff and let people teach me how to do it."

"You underestimated yourself, and ended up proving yourself wrong. Do you have any idea how big a deal that should be for yourself? That's big for you. Don't ever forget that."

Drake sounded proud, which was unusual for him. That prompted Hudson to smile a little. "You'll get that moment, too, one day. Part of me hopes that you'll sit down with your son or daughter one day and tell them how you underestimated yourself and proved yourself wrong."

"That's even further down the road, but, yeah, I hope that day comes." Drake reached over to squeeze Hudson's shoulder. "Should we get back to the girls, or do you have more to talk about?"

"No. I think I got everything, man."

As they stood up, Drake paused, and looked at Hudson. "Did this Carlisle woman say where she was staying?"

"No, why?"

"I was thinking maybe I could talk to her first. Convince her to talk to Hicks herself."

Hudson shrugged. "I dunno. She might turn back up at the mall, but . . . I dunno, man."

"OK. I'll go down later this afternoon and see. What does she look like?"

"Shirt. Kinda cropped blonde hair. Very pretty green eyes. Corporal, so, you can't miss that."

Drake nodded. "I'll keep that in mind."

* * *

The rest of the morning was spent talking to each other. Hudson noticed that Ferro was still quiet, though she did speak up a couple times to correct Drake or ask Miranda something. Her shock and sadness was palpable, and despite being in a room with people she cared about, and who cared for her, she looked lonely.

With that in mind, Hudson walked over to her. "Hey, do you wanna sit and talk in my room? You look like you need to have a one-on-one with somebody."

Keeping quiet, Ferro nodded. Her cheeks had reddened slightly, like she was about to cry. She followed Hudson next door, and sat on one of the beds while he dropped his duffel bag on the other. "Hudson?"

"Yeah?"

Ferro sobbed. "I need a hug."

Sitting next to her, Hudson gave her an embrace, letting her cry in his shoulder. He didn't say anything, knowing this was pretty similar to whenever Vasquez needed time away from Drake. She didn't want to talk about what was wrong, she just wanted someone for comfort. And then she wanted to talk about what was wrong.

The next few minutes seemed to drag. Eventually, Ferro half pulled away from Hudson, and used her sleeve to wipe away her tears. "Hudson, I'm sorry."

"For what? You got nothing to be sorry for, man. You're worried about Spunkmeyer. There's no shame in being upset."

"You don't think I should've held my composure when I realized he didn't come out of the APC? I . . . I screamed bloody murder in front of everyone."

"If you didn't scream, I think we'd be more concerned. No, what you did is normal, man. He's your friend and closest co-worker. Hell, he's a brother to you. I think he'd be just as upset if this'd happened to you."

"You're probably right." Ferro took a breath, again drying her face with her sleeve. "Thanks, Hudson."

"Hey, come to me anytime you want." Hudson smiled. "It makes me feel good."

* * *

Hudson's good feeling didn't last for very long when he realized that he and Miranda would have to part ways soon. He didn't want to, not after making so much progress. _That's the price I have to pay in a long-distance relationship._

With no news on Spunkmeyer yet, Hudson decided to take Miranda out to dinner that evening, just the two of them. Drake was doing the same for Ferro, but it was more to cheer her up and have fun. Plus, they weren't going to the same place to eat.

"Are you gonna be busy the next few days?" Hudson asked shortly after they sat down.

"Spring break isn't for another month, so, unfortunately, yeah; I have to go back to the university on Monday and start preparing for more tests," Miranda replied.

"Maybe I can come visit you. I got enough days under my belt to do so. Although, that does depend on whether or not Apone lets me go."

"You got a lot more under your belt, sweetie." Miranda grinned and winked at him.

"Well, thanks. Makes me feel less like an old man."

Miranda's grin faded to a look of confusion.

"Some of the guys in my unit . . . you know, ever since I told them about you, think that I'm whipped now, which is apparently a sign that I'm getting older."

"And how old are you?"

"I'll be twenty-six in May."

"Yeah. I'm twenty-four. Not that far off."

"You do look a lot younger, y'know."

"Well, thank you. Anyway, no, you're not whipped. I don't think that's OK in a relationship. Holding you on a leash and telling you what to do isn't fun for me, and it's definitely not fun for you. You should be able to do things you want. Just because we're in a relationship doesn't mean you should stop doing things you enjoy. If you want to go have a drink with your friends, you should. If you don't want to go shopping with me, you don't have to. I don't think . . . either of us should become submissive to the other."

"Hey, it's not like I do that much anyway." Hudson paused, wondering if the next thing he wanted to say would be appropriate. _Drake and Vasquez talk about it all the time. Besides, it's not like I'm being all that serious . . ._ "So, can I ask a hypothetical question?"

"Sure."

"Do you . . . see us having a long future together?"

"You mean like getting married?"

Hudson nodded, bracing himself for a negative response.

"I can. I think it's a little too soon to be considering that. Believe me, I'd love to think about it, but if there's one thing I've heard Mark tell me multiple times, it's that I shouldn't rush into anything so quickly." Miranda gave a small smile. "It doesn't hurt to fantasize, though." Her smile got bigger. "So, tell me, Will, what's your dream wedding?"

"Want me to be honest? I want all the cake I can eat, all the beer I can drink. I want Drake to be my best man, and I want him to give a speech that tears us both to shreds. I want all my fellow squadmates there. I want it to be fun, and memorable. That's . . . That's pretty much it."

Miranda didn't respond right away. She nodded, and looked down at her drink.

"Is that wrong?"

"No. No, it's not . . . wrong. You know . . . nothing about _us?_ Nothing regarding . . . the two of us starting a future together? Everything would be about you and your friends. OK. That's-That's OK."

"Don't assume that. You asked what my dream wedding would be and I gave you my answer. Nothing's set in stone, pumpkin. We're not actually planning a wedding right now. Besides, I can compromise with you. We could make it a wedding we'll both enjoy." Hudson grinned, trying to keep the mood light. "Now, tell me your dream wedding."

"Alright. Well, first, I'd like to arrive at the church in a limousine. Your family's on one side, mine's on the other. Gray and white color scheme. There are roses and daisies everywhere. We say our vows, we go to the reception in the limo. Same color scheme, same flowers everywhere. People can sit with whoever they want, meet new friends, meet their in-laws, and there's a beautiful buffet with fruits and cheeses and cookies and all sorts of good stuff. There's champagne and the cake is a lovely little white vanilla with white chocolate frosting, and pink rosettes rimming it."

"OK. Everything is very . . . flowery and pretty. Probably give Drake a panic attack, but OK."

Miranda laughed. "It's not like we'll be using the silver flower. That's stupid. And really dangerous."

"I know, I know. Hey, I think we could combine your ideas and my ideas and make it memorable for the two of us."

"Yeah. It's still a very long ways away, though. How much do you have left on your contract?"

"'Bout four years. I got it easy; all I got do is go into an office and sign a paper saying, 'Yes, I want a new contract,' or 'No, I want to start a civilian life.' Drake and Vasquez got a whole different ballgame they gotta play if they want out when their contract's up. If they elect 'no,' they gotta meet with officers. They gotta have all their records looked at not just by the USCM, but by civvie law enforcement as well, because they need to know if Drake and Vasquez aren't gonna go and get themselves arrested again."

Miranda nodded. "You know, I didn't think that was in Mark's past when I first met him. Sure, he looks . . . kinda mean and tough, but it didn't take very long to see his soft and gooey side."

"Oh, it never does. Especially when he's around Vasquez. He tries to hide it, but anyone good at reading people can tell he loves her to death and will guard her with his life." Hudson glanced down at his menu. "Despite his past, I would trust him with my life. I mean, he's saved my ass before, so, why wouldn't I trust him. He's my best friend, my brother. He's the guy I can turn to any hour of the day if I need someone to talk to. I just hope that when I make my transition to civilian life, he'll be right behind me."

"It's good that you care for each other like that." Miranda reached over to squeeze Hudson's hand. "You're very loyal. That's one reason I love you."

"I love you, too." Hudson leaned over the table, gently sliding their drinks out of the way so he could kiss Miranda. "You're amazing, you know that?" He paused, remembering how this could be the last time they saw each other for a long time. "I . . . I don't know if you could . . . stay in my hotel room for a night?"

"Today's Saturday, so . . . I guess one night couldn't hurt. I don't have to go back till Monday." Miranda nodded. "Let me get a change of clothes from my apartment, OK? I'll be right back. I promise."

* * *

 _Question: Is Drake really the better person to talk to Carlisle about Hicks? Given his history with Hicks, is it likely he'll get defensive and angry with Carlisle for supposedly "leaving him to suffer?"_


	9. Chapter 9

The walls that separated the hotel rooms weren't very thick, so it was easy for anyone to listen to another's conversation. Hudson could hear the TV on in Drake and Ferro's room, but no conversation between them.

Around seven-fifteen PM, Hudson was undressing in the bathroom, when he heard the phone ring next door. Someone picked it up, and Drake said, "Hello?"

Silence.

"That's good news, I guess . . . Is he . . . ? . . . Right, I get it . . . When will we be able to see him? Ferro's still distraught over this . . . Couple days, alright . . . Yeah. Thanks for letting us know. I'll tell Hudson in the morning. See you later, Delhoun." Drake hung up. "They took Spunkmeyer out of surgery. Hornby's letting his body recover before putting him on intravenous medication."

"How's he doing?" Ferro asked.

"Well, he's not awake yet. His pulse is still weak, but it should get stronger overnight. He should be fine. It's not like they're just gonna leave him alone in a room all night. People will be watching him and making sure everything's OK."

More silence.

"He'll be out of action for awhile, that's for sure," Drake said. "No cryosleep. I don't think he'll be allowed to fly while on drugs."

"No. That was the first thing we were told. Doesn't matter if it's just cough syrup; you take anything for any reason, and you can't fly, period. We get more surprise piss tests than you do," Ferro sighed.

"Hey, Spunkmeyer's a tough little snot. He'll bounce back quickly. I hope."

Again, silence followed, and this time, it sounded like they wouldn't be talking for awhile. Hudson took a quick shower, then went out into his room to climb in bed with Miranda. "Hi," he whispered.

"Hi," Miranda whispered back. "You smell good."

"Thanks. So do you." Hudson kissed her forehead. "I heard the phone ringing next door. Apparently, Spunkmeyer's outta surgery, and they're gonna start his medicine tomorrow."

"I heard that, too." Miranda put her arms around Hudson's neck, kissing him on the lips. "Did you shave?"

"No. Am I prickly?"

"Just a little. Give your cheeks and chin a onceover in the morning."

"Sure thing, pumpkin." Hudson kissed her again, then nuzzled her face. "You're very soft."

"So's your . . . your chest." Miranda ran a bent knuckle down Hudson's torso. "Really would look better waxed."

"I'll keep it. If I get waxed, everyone's gonna ask, 'Did you cry when they pulled the strip?'"

"Would you cry?"

"That depends. How bad does a chest wax hurt?"

"You know what a bikini wax is, right?"

"I have an idea-"

"Pretty sure a chest wax hurts ten times less than that."

Hudson leaned in to kiss Miranda again, drinking in her scent and pressing her close to him. He didn't want this to end. Why was that so much to ask? _I went through so much, only to get two days with her._ He found himself beginning to cry, and held her tighter. "I don't want you to go. Is that weird of me to say?"

"Will, sweetie, I can't breathe."

"Sorry." Hudson loosened his grip. "Just . . . I love you, and I don't want to be apart from you for so long again."

"I know. I don't want to be apart from you, either."

"Look, I know this is gonna sound really cheesy, but . . . when . . . I'm with you, I feel better about myself. You don't care that I'm, you know, the goofball. You're completely OK with how I am right now. You're not demanding a lot of change from me. I know what I have to change about myself, but you're willing to help me and you're not pushing me away because I was such a complete moron in my past. You don't constantly remind me of that."

"That's not cheesy. That's really sweet, to be honest with you. Believe me, I wish you could stay, but that's not something either of us can control. I think a day will come where we'll be able to spend whole weeks together and go places together and have all the time we want to sit and cuddle and talk about whatever the hell's on your mind."

"Hey, Drake and Vasquez have it easy, but they haven't slept together in a little over two-and-a-half months."

"Oh." Miranda smirked. "Mark might be feeling a little horny, then. Maybe that's why he's cranky."

At that moment, someone knocked on the wall between the rooms. "You know, you two need to do a better job at whispering. I can hear every fucking word," Drake said.

Hudson laughed, though tears were still falling down his face. "Sorry, man!"

"Whatever. Go to sleep." Drake left the wall, muttering something that sounded like, "I'm not fucking horny."

* * *

When Hudson awoke the next morning, he knew it was only a matter of hours before he and Miranda would part ways for God knows how long. He sat up for a few minutes, and then settled back down, reaching over to stroke Miranda's hair.

Smiling, Miranda wrapped her arms around Hudson's neck. "Good morning," she whispered.

"'Morning," Hudson whispered back, planting a kiss on her lips. "How'd you sleep?"

"I slept great. You?"

"It was OK. I'm just . . . thinking about today and how you gotta leave me later."

"I know. I was thinking about that, too. It probably won't be till this afternoon. We still have a lot of time to hang around each other and make the best of it, OK?"

"Yeah. I just hope it doesn't go by too fast."

"Well, I'm not lying in bed all day with you." Miranda pulled back the covers. "I'm gonna get dressed, and then-what time is it?"

"Seven-thirty."

"OK, so the doors to the mall are open. We can go get some coffee and breakfast."

"Sounds good." Hudson got out of bed, and stretched before grabbing his duffel bag. It didn't take long to get dressed and put his boots on, but Miranda was taking her time. _Girls always take their time. They gotta do their hair and put on lotion and a little bit of makeup, and change their products if it's that time of the month. Dietrich and Vasquez and Ferro don't have to worry about that. Well, most of that._

Hudson had no idea what a period was like, but he had been around his female teammates long enough to know every little detail. He had heard somewhere that their cycles would eventually sync up to whoever was considered the "alpha female" of the group. In his squad, that was Vasquez. She was scary enough. When that time of the month rolled around, she was even scarier. Only Drake knew the secret to getting her to relax and not throw someone (usually Hudson) across the room.

Ferro was significantly less scary. She tended to close herself off and become fidgety and moody for a couple days, then resume being herself. She complained more often for the following week, but after close to five years of being with everyone, no one took her complaints personally or seriously.

Dietrich would plow on regardless. Being the medic, she had a different perspective on her cycle, and everyone else's. She would tell the others that they would be less irritable if they'd take birth control, and she'd get pushy about it, occasionally to the point where Apone has to tell her to back off. Behind her back, Vasquez would say that Dietrich was no more irritable than she was.

It all reminded Hudson that he needed to pay attention to how Miranda was around that time. What pissed her off, what made her calm down. He would be the best boyfriend ever if he knew all that and could show up at her apartment with her favorite chocolates at the right time. Hopefully, she'd be in the mood to cuddle him instead of rip his head off.

He muttered to himself that he'd need advice like that from Drake. While closing his fly, Hudson left the room, and knocked on the door of the next room. "Hey, Drake, you up, man?"

He heard a familiar unhappy grunt, then the door opened. Drake was half-dressed, holding up his pants with one hand and his belt in the other. "What now?" he asked.

"Just seeing if you're up, man. Miranda and I are gonna go get breakfast. You and Ferro wanna come?"

"Ferro's still sleeping," Drake said. "Oh, by the way, I got a call last night about Spunkmeyer. Surgery's done and they're starting his medication today. We're supposed to get notified when we can see him."

"So, you probably don't want to leave the room."

"Nah, I'll leave a note for Ferro. She . . . She was having nightmares about Spunkmeyer, so she didn't get that much sleep. I'll just leave her alone, let her rest. But, yeah, I'm starving, I want something to eat, and coffee." Drake hiked up his pants. "Let me get a shirt on, write that note, and I'll join you."

Within the next ten minutes, the three were in an elevator heading down to the lobby. Drake was staring up at the mirror ceiling while leaning against the wall, hands shoved in his pockets.

"How have things been going with your PTSD treatment?" Miranda asked.

"Slow," Drake said. "Seeing Spunkmeyer get gassed didn't help. I haven't seen my therapist since before the mission, so . . ." he shrugged, "I'm really trying to push forward and deal with it, but it keeps coming back at the worst times. I still have nightmares of . . . the fucking flower and rescuing Hudson, or not being able to breathe. I haven't had any nightmares about Spunkmeyer's incident, but I feel like those will pop up soon. I mean, I wasn't the one who rescued him, but I did pass out and vomit and cry while watching Dietrich revive him. It was awful, and there's a part of me that feels guilty I let my . . . experience control me. I didn't fight it. I didn't . . . didn't push past it and help Spunkmeyer."

"That's not something you got control of, man," Hudson said, softly. "No one's angry at you."

"I know you're not and Ferro's not, but I don't know how everyone else feels. Well, I do know Wierzbowski won't be angry. Hicks doesn't even know. Vasquez . . . Jesus, do you remember what she said to me when I was about to faint? She said, 'Drake, don't do this now.'" Drake shook his head. "She's probably pissed at me for being another deadweight in that mission. I had no fucking excuse for that-"

"Don't beat yourself up, man. Just give yourself time to recover. It wasn't your fault." Hudson took Drake's shoulder. "I'm sure Spunkmeyer won't be mad at you. Hell, he might even look to you for guidance. I did when I was recovering."

Drake didn't reply, but he did pat Hudson's shoulder. "Thanks, bud."

The doors opened, and they stepped out into the lobby. Drake went back to putting his hands in his pockets, sticking close behind Hudson and Miranda. He was undoubtedly uncomfortable with so many people around, but he wasn't letting anyone see it.

Hudson was just as uncomfortable. He felt better with two friends, but it didn't stop the overwhelming feeling of being alone in an unfamiliar environment without the security of the rest of his squad. Something in the back of mind was saying that anyone here could give chase to him, and trap him in a small area.

As they walked through the tunnel to get to the mall, the feeling got worse. Hudson glanced at the mirror wall to his right. He imagined how he looked while trapped in that station-tired, dirty, hungry, thirsty, anxious, frustrated, scared.

He had forgotten to shave before leaving. He was pretty certain he had a good amount of stubble while awaiting help. There were dark circles under his eyes-he'd always had a fair amount of those. It was rare he ever got a full night of sleep, but they just looked . . . so much darker, like he had been punched in both eyes. He barely slept in that station. He couldn't afford to sleep, not with so many hostiles in the area. They could break in at any moment.

"Hudson? Are you OK?" Drake touched his shoulder. "You look like you're about to . . . cry . . ."

Almost as soon as Drake said that, tears were flowing down Hudson's cheeks.

"Will, what's the matter?" Miranda hugged him.

"Let him breathe." Drake gestured for her to let go.

Hudson kept staring into the mirror, breathing heavily. "I don't want to be trapped . . . in one location . . . ever again, man."

"Hey, you're not in Romania. You are four thousand miles away from that abandoned building. You're gonna be OK."

Hudson took a deep breath, and nodded.

"Maybe you'll feel better when you get some food in your system. Let's keep going. We don't need people staring at us."

* * *

Hudson did start feeling better after taking a few sips of hot coffee. He looked at Drake once his head was clear, and said, "Well, now I know how you feel when you have a breakdown in public, man."

"It's embarrassing, isn't it?" Drake replied. "It never stops being embarrassing, no matter how many times it happens." He picked up his coffee. "I don't think you're gonna end up like me, though. Miranda was talking to me yesterday about how you were feeling a little off because of what happened."

"She did?"

"Yeah. When you went next door with Ferro. I asked her if you were OK because . . . I dunno, I had this feeling that you didn't tell me everything when we went out into the hall to talk. Turns out, I was right."

"You are right, man. She . . . said it should fade away in a few days. I hope so."

"It's OK to be scared. Go ahead; admit that you're scared it's not gonna go away."

"Fine. I'm . . . I'm scared it's not gonna go away, man."

"And that's OK. I get it. I know you, and I know that . . . you're able to bounce back from stuff like this pretty quickly. However, I also know everyone's got their breaking point where they just . . . can't bounce back anymore. I don't want to see that happen to you."

Hudson nodded. "I think I can do it, man. I'll be fine."

The conversation ended there. Drake hadn't been lying when he said he wanted to eat; he moaned with content as he bit into a bacon sandwich that was dripping with a spicy honey mustard. Hudson could understand, though he knew it was rare for Drake to have an appetite. Before he could sink his teeth into an oversized chocolate muffin, someone came running into the restaurant, to their table.

"We need to go to the hospital, right now!" Ferro cried.

"Why, what's going on?" Drake asked.

"Something's wrong. Like, five minutes ago, I got a call from whatshisname-Delhoun-he said something's going on with Spunkmeyer. He didn't go into detail."

Hudson could tell from the look on Drake's face that he wanted to go make sure Spunkmeyer was OK, but he was also trying to be rational about it. "Alright. Ferro, we're not dismissing you. We will go as soon as we're done here. You should eat, too, because you haven't done so in about a day."

"But-"

"Trust me. We could get in serious trouble for barging in on these people." Drake looked at Hudson. "I swear to God, if Hornby's fucking around with Spunkmeyer, I'll lock him in a lab of those flowers and change the code."

* * *

Morning rush hour was still at its peak, and Drake wasn't afraid to push people aside in order force himself and the others onto the Metro. Hudson was nauseated with panic, and hung onto the rail along the ceiling for dear life. He took several deep breaths, trying to reassure himself that he had nothing to be afraid of here.

His thoughts drowned out the noise around him, and he tried to focus on a single memory-that of a couple nights ago. He glanced at Miranda, and felt a little calmer. He was with her, and that's all that mattered. He took the edge of the seat she was in, and let go of the railing, slowly sitting next to her. Without a word, he put his arms around her, and hugged her close. _I achieved my goal. Everything I thought about while in that hellhole, I did it. I made sure we're on the right path in this relationship. I redeemed myself after what happened in Norway. I haven't pissed her off or embarrassed myself._ He nuzzled her face, and whispered, "I love you," in her ear.

Drake knew what he was doing and where he was going, so he walked in front of everyone after getting off the train, occasionally looking over his shoulder to make sure everyone was keeping up and OK. They emerged aboveground to see gray skies and an abundance of rain. Drake looked up at a sign. "Not that far, come on."

There were several military vehicles in a restricted parking lot of the hospital, and Hudson could see the helmets of Marines through the windows. Again, he felt sick as they approached the building. His memories of being in there, being Hornby's guinea pig, were faint and fragmented, and he knew why. He knew he had subconsciously suppressed them. He knew that he only had two options when it came to unravelling them and piecing together what happened when he was ill: get help from Drake's therapist, or let them fester and erupt from the dark corners of his mind.

Drake had learned his lesson from the last time he barged into this particular hospital. He was doing his best to bury his rage and speak calmly to the receptionist. They had to wait a few minutes to be seen, but Hudson was glad to see relief come over Drake's face when his friend, Doctor Delhoun, came out of an elevator.

"I did warn Hornby that you would all show up," Delhoun said. He extended a pale hand to Drake. "Despite the circumstances, it is good to see you again."

"What's going on with Spunkmeyer?" Drake asked, eyes narrowed to ice-blue slits.

"Well, if you'd follow me . . . upstairs . . . I'll give you the full story." Delhoun led them into the elevator, and was quiet until they arrived at the lab floor. "Drake, I promise Hornby is not hurting Spunkmeyer. What happened this morning was my fault. I should have thought this process through before administering his medication." Delhoun opened the door to his Annexer lab, and turned to face Drake. "Spunkmeyer is allergic to Annexers."

The anger drained from Drake's face. Hudson's jaw dropped a little. Ferro didn't seem certain what to feel.

Delhoun nodded. "Can't be too close to them, which means his body will react poorly with the hormone. He went into shock almost as soon as I put the needle in his arm. He's recovering well, but that's provided us with quite a dilemma."

Drake released his breath. "So, you have no idea what to do."

"We're trying two things. One is synthetically producing the hormone. The other is using some other chemical."

"How long is that gonna take?"

"I have no clue. I'm sorry."

"Can we see him?"

Delhoun looked down at the floor, and shook his head. "Not for another twenty-four hours. If this . . . hadn't happened, absolutely, you'd have been able to see him, but . . . we need to let him rest. He's not even awake."

"Can I just sit with him?" Ferro asked. "For five minutes?"

"She and Spunkmeyer fly the dropship," Drake said.

"Ah. Well . . . I guess. You can sit with him for a couple minutes." Delhoun escorted Ferro out of the room, leaving Drake, Hudson, and Miranda alone.

There was silence aside from the gentle cooing and purring of Annexers in their enclosures. Drake folded his arms across his chest, looking down at his boots. He then looked up at the ceiling, cussing to himself.

"We should leave and let them do their work, man," Hudson said. "We're only gonna be a bother."

"Are you suggesting we go back to the hotel?" Drake muttered.

"No. Let's . . . I dunno, go to a museum or something. You and Ferro shouldn't be alone with your thoughts for too long, man. And I want to spend more time with Miranda before she has to go."

Reluctantly, Drake agreed. "Alright. We'll wait for Ferro, and then we'll . . . we'll hop on the train to the Smithsonian or something like that."

"Mark, do you need a hug?" Miranda asked.

"Your boyfriend's right there. You shouldn't be hugging me."

Hudson gestured to Miranda that it was OK to hug Drake, and she put her arms around the moody smartgunner in an effort to make him feel better.

A hint of a lopsided smirk crossed Drake's face. "You were just looking for an excuse to hug me, weren't you?" He snorted. "Witch."

"Hey, man, be nice," Hudson said with a grin. "She's just trying to help you."

* * *

 _Question: Does Hudson's anxiety after being trapped make his panic attacks more understandable in "Aliens?"_


	10. Chapter 10

Miranda explained that the best times to visit any museum in D.C. was during the non-tourist seasons, because it means fewer people and shorter lines. A week ago, Hudson wouldn't have cared. Today, he did. He hoped that this anxiety and paranoia would just . . . go away, and soon. He hated it. He knew that he was far away from the woods and that radio station. Why was he so nervous that someone could chase him and lock him in a small space and leave him for dead?

 _It'll stop. Miranda said it would stop in a few days._ Hudson took a deep breath as he followed Miranda through the large glass doors of the Natural History Museum. _Just relax._

"Are you OK? You look a little pale, sweetie," Miranda said.

Hudson snapped out of his thoughts, his heart still pounding. "Yeah. Yeah, I'm fine. Um . . . what time is it?"

"A little bit past eleven," Drake replied, glancing at his watch. "She's right; you are pale. If you wanna sit, go ahead."

"What'd you have for breakfast?" Miranda asked.

"I think . . . all I got was a muffin, and then we had to leave, so I didn't really finish."

"You need more than that," Drake said. "It'll help you feel less anxious, too."

"Well, gee, no shit, man."

Drake was quiet for a moment, and then gestured for the girls to leave. "Let's take a walk, Hudson."

"Are you mad at me, man?"

"No. I'm worried about you, that's for sure." Drake glanced up at a sign, and led Hudson through the expansive halls to a massive round room containing a slowly spinning globe of the Earth that was lined with a clear spiral staircase, allowing you to closely examine every little detail. A droning voice was explaining the geologic and geographic history of the planet. The room was dark, aside from a faint glow from the globe. The walls were covered in a star field, aside from maps and images displaying prehistoric to modern times.

Drake looked below the globe, seeing a small, dark chamber containing notes on the earliest of Earth's history. He beckoned for Hudson to follow him. The chamber had no other way out aside from the stairs. On hot days, this room could become a death trap if the vents weren't working, which is why there were signs everywhere about caution from May to October for young children, the elderly, and people with health issues.

It was late February. There was no heat to speak of. That didn't stop the small room from making Hudson nervous.

Drake sat directly below the globe, the bright white light from Antarctica shining down on him. Hudson frowned. "What're you doing, man? We'll get in trouble."

"This is an exhibit. We're meant to be here. Just sit down, bud." Drake crossed his legs, and watched Hudson sit across from him. "Alright, be honest with me; how does . . . being in this fucking room make you feel?"

"Not good."

"Elaborate."

"Well, I . . . I feel like I . . . I'm trapped, or I could be trapped. I'm afraid someone's gonna block off the stairs and shoot us or gas us."

"OK. Is that all?"

"I'm worried this feeling won't go away."

Drake nodded. "We talked about this yesterday. Trust me, it's OK. You're scared because you've seen what trauma did to me, and you don't want to go through the same thing. I told you before, it's completely normal to be scared. You just went through this, and it's not gonna go away over night. Don't be scared to tell one of us that . . . certain things are making you nervous or anxious or uncomfortable. Right now, you just seem . . . afraid to tell us about what's going on, even though I understand and Miranda's your girlfriend and Ferro's going through shit of her own. You don't have to be the tough guy here, especially if you don't feel like it."

Hudson swallowed past a growing lump in his throat. Tears were beginning to stream down his face.

"I know it's really, really hard, but be open about this. Believe me, it helps." Drake stood up, and held out his hand. "Come on, let's get you something to eat and we'll go back to the hotel." He turned to go back up the stairs, but was grabbed in a bear-hug by Hudson. "Hey, we're in public, buddy. Is Miranda not hugging you enough?"

"She hugs me a lot. I just needed one from you, man," Hudson sobbed.

Drake sighed, and whispered, "Three . . . two . . . one . . . OK, let go. You're not Vasquez. You can't hug me as long as you want."

Hudson let go, and they headed back up to the main part of the exhibit. He wanted to change the conversation topic to something else, but the only other thing on his mind was no more cheerful. "I'm gonna miss Miranda, man."

"I know."

"What do I do with myself?"

"Keep writing to her. Behave so Apone doesn't think twice when giving you leave."

"You and Vasquez have it easy, man."

"No, we don't." Drake was quiet for a moment, and then glanced at Hudson. "Honestly, I don't think Miranda knows what 'horny' means. If I was horny, I'd be humping a mannequin right now."

That brought a smile to Hudson's face. "But you admit you're a little cranky, man?"

"Yeah, I'm definitely cranky." Drake sighed. "When they cycle us to North America, I hope to God we get put near New York or here or Miami or some other major city. They have the nicer bases where we get our own rooms and I can invite Vasquez in whenever the fuck I want."

"I've gotten used to the bunk beds, man. I don't mind sharing a room with you and Hicks and Spunkmeyer."

"I hate it. It reminds me too much of boot camp. I mean, I'm OK with you, Hicks, and Spunkmeyer, but I like having my own space."

After meeting up with Miranda and Ferro, they decided to leave the museum in favor of a diner that wasn't full of little kids that had broke out their new dinosaur toys and charging around the café with them. They walked several blocks before coming to a small Italian restaurant in the middle of a high-end shopping district, which wasn't as busy because of the miserable weather.

"What time is it now?" Miranda asked.

"It's . . . twelve-thirty," Drake said. "It's OK to drink, ladies."

"What about me?" Hudson smirked.

"You would drink beer with breakfast if you could."

"That's not true, man. Although, I added bourbon to my waffles once when I was still living in Minneapolis."

"In the batter or with the syrup?" Ferro asked.

"With the syrup. They were frozen toaster waffles. I can't make batter to save my life."

"Drake probably could."

Glaring at Ferro, Drake took a sip of his whiskey. "We don't speak of that here."

"Will already told me you're taking a cooking class," Miranda said.

Keeping the glass to his lips, Drake gave Hudson the middle finger.

"Anyway, I think what you're doing is a good thing. It's a valuable skill."

"My therapist told me it would impress my girlfriend, too. Remember, Vasquez isn't easily impressed. I could shit a bar of gold and she wouldn't bat an eyelash."

"It takes a lot to get any kind of reaction outta her," Ferro added. "But she will get angry if someone talks shit about her or Drake."

"Or if she looks at Dietrich."

"Dietrich has a knack for pissing people off when she's not treating them. We both get very quiet when Dietrich's in our room at night."

"Honestly, I'll bet she was the real reason Ariker got so pissed off when it came to treating my tonsillitis," Drake replied, setting his glass down. "Not Hicks. _Her_."

"Wouldn't surprise me at all."

"Speaking of Hicks, man," Hudson started, "how're we gonna tell him about his old girlfriend?"

"We can send a private message at a USCM comm station," Drake said. "He really should be healing by now. If not, I'm gonna punch someone's lights out."

"Save some punching for the rest of us," Ferro added. "I don't think we should say anything to Hicks until we know that this woman isn't going to drop off the radar again. It'd be cruel if she disappeared and he can't find her again."

"That's why I'm going to talk to her." Drake looked at Hudson. "Although, you're the one who found her. Maybe you should do it."

Hudson pointed to himself. "Me? You said you were gonna do it, man."

"I think you should. You did get her to tell you who she was and her relationship with Hicks. She might not do the same with me."

"You can be a little intimidating, Drake," Ferro muttered.

"I know. Hudson looks more cuddly. That's why he should do it."

"He _is_ soft and cuddly." Miranda put her arms around Hudson, and kissed his cheek.

"Don't forget, I'm still a badass." Hudson smirked, and nuzzled Miranda's face.

"Cuddly badass." She poked his belly, prompting Drake to offer Ferro some of his whiskey.

"Get a room," Drake sighed, pouring some of the bottle's contents in Ferro's glass. "Anyway, Hudson is better at talking to people than I am. That's my point, along with the fact that he's already established some form of trust with Carlisle. If we want her to stick around, we don't want that trust broken."

* * *

They would've stayed out longer if the skies didn't threaten more rain again. That, and Drake was starting to mentally shut down. Hudson had never seen him go so long without wanting to lock himself in a room by himself. It was impressive, and a sign that he hadn't been set back too far by witnessing Spunkmeyer get poisoned. Regardless, Drake still couldn't hold out for the entirety of the day, and his burnout was beginning to show as he didn't seem to crack as many jokes or say something wise-ass to the rest of the group. The humor and confidence in his eyes were gone.

Hudson's time with Miranda was coming to a close far earlier than he wanted. It was two in the afternoon when they arrived back in Crystal City. Miranda had to wait for a Yellow Line train in order to get home, giving her a little bit of time to hug Hudson one last time, while Drake and Ferro stood near the escalator, giving the two some privacy.

"Thanks for not . . . for not giving up on me," Hudson whispered.

"What do you mean?" Miranda asked.

"You know, what happened in Norway. I'm glad you didn't . . . cut me off or act like this is hopeless because I made a mistake."

"It's in the past. We made up for it." Miranda reached up to run her fingers through Hudson's hair. "I love you."

"I love you, too." Hudson smiled through his tears. "I'm gonna miss you, pumpkin."

Miranda weakly smiled as well. "Please, make sure you write 'pumpkin' somewhere in each of your letters. I like that."

"Of course." Hudson nuzzled her. "I'll try to come back for spring break. That's late April, right?"

"Yeah. We can go places and maybe . . . you can meet my family."

An ice-ball dropped in Hudson's stomach. "Meet your . . . OK. W-We can do that."

"You don't want to?"

"N-No, it's just . . . I'm worried they won't . . . like me. They'll wonder, what's a smart girl like you dating a goofy dumbass like me?"

"You will have no trouble getting them to like you. Trust me."

They continued to stare at each other as the train pulled up alongside them. Hudson hugged Miranda one last time, kissing her cheek. She responded by kissing him on the lips, and then slowly let go when the doors on the train opened. Hudson held her hand, feeling his heart start to get torn from its branches as they stood. Miranda let go just as the doors closed. He could see her waving to him through the window as the train started pulling away.

Drake walked over to place a hand on Hudson's shoulder. "Come on, bud. We'll get a six-pack from the drugstore and go back up to the hotel. You OK?"

"I'll be fine, man." Hudson swallowed past a painful urge to cry.

As they headed back up to the mall, Hudson spotted someone familiar from the corner of his eye. Corporal Carlisle was standing outside an electronics shop, looking at two different phones. Without thinking, Hudson walked over to her, knowing he might not get this chance again. "Hey, remember me, from yesterday?"

Carlisle glanced at him. "Hudson, right?"

"Yeah. Look . . . I . . . I was thinking about how you're not . . . sure you wanna talk to Hicks again, and . . . listen, I don't want to be hiding this from him. Hell, I think . . . I think it'd make him feel better if you talked to him. I'm sure he'd be thrilled to hear from you again."

"How do you know?"

"Because I know the guy. Sure, he might be a little upset, but it's not like . . . it's not like deep down, he ain't happy. Maybe he wouldn't be upset, I don't know."

"Hudson, I appreciate your effort, but I want to do this on my own time."

The ice-ball from earlier melted quickly, leaving a boiling sensation in the center of his stomach. "If you could see Hicks now, you probably wouldn't say that." Hudson drew in a breath. "I wasn't very helpful when he first came to my unit, because I didn't understand what the hell he was going through. Sure, he got support from everybody else, but not from me. I owe him help. I've owed him help for the last four years, and I don't want to carry this burden around anymore." The tears dripped down his face again. "Go talk to him. Go to a comm station, and call him. It could make his day. It could start something better than you had before."

"Well, what if it doesn't?"

"Dammit, you won't know till you try! Don't look at this negatively. That's how you form regrets. Regrets aren't fun, man. They suck. Either you go call Hicks, or you live out the rest of your life knowing you dropped the chance to love a man who will be loyal to you for the rest of his life."

For several long minutes, Carlisle looked Hudson in the eye, contemplating what she heard from him. She then looked down at the floor, and back up at Hudson. "Alright. I'll call him. Where are you stationed?"

"Hueco, Spain. I don't know if Hicks is out of treatment for his shoulder wound. If he's not there . . . please don't ditch him again."

Carlisle nodded. "You know what's funny? I tried to be that positive person for Hicks when he was so down. It . . . didn't work out, but that was all because I didn't really know what was going on. I didn't know that something much, much worse was going on in his brain."

"I'm just saying. _Do this_. Don't let it become something you're gonna regret later on." Hudson watched Carlisle leave with a strange, heavy feeling in his chest. He hoped he had said the right things, and that she didn't brush him off.

He hoped he had cleared everything he thought about while trapped in that station. Then again, the only thing left was piecing together his thoughts and dreams from when he was poisoned. They were repressed to the point where he couldn't remember them, and he didn't know what it would take to get them to surface so he could understand them. What parts of himself did they show? Did he even want to know?

 _I have to know._ Hudson turned to head back to the hotel, knowing he could go to Drake's doctor when they went home. Could this wait, though? Hudson hoped so. He wanted the right answers.

He didn't say anything about it when he returned to his room. He stared out the window, listening to Drake and Ferro talk next door. Drake had said it wouldn't do him any good to just keep this all buried, and, for the most part, he was right; Hudson wasn't getting anything done by sitting here, stewing in his thoughts and fears.

Sighing, Hudson grabbed his jacket, and went next door.

"What's the matter, buddy?" Drake asked, offering a can of beer to Hudson. "Still upset about Miranda?"

"Yeah." Hudson sat on the edge of the bed. "There's . . . other stuff, too, man."

"Sure. What's up?"

"Well . . . you know how you can remember all your bad dreams and the stuff you saw when you were poisoned? For some reason . . . I can't remember. Bits and pieces, but . . . I just don't remember."

Drake nodded a little. "You've told me about some of your nightmares, though."

"You suggested it's because I've got much of those memories suppressed. Even when I was . . . stuck and vulnerable, I couldn't . . . I couldn't bring them up."

Drake shrugged. "I wish I could help, but, I think this is something Doctor Ranelli knows more about. We shouldn't be here very long, and I'm sure he can schedule you in for an appointment. Just because you go see him, doesn't mean you have a major problem. You need a little help, that's all." He offered Hudson a grin. "You'll make it through, buddy. You're already doing a thousand times better than I was right after my trauma."

Hudson weakly smiled. "Thanks, man."

"If you want, you can stay with us for a few hours. I was gonna order pizza or takeout and we can just . . . sit and talk and not go anywhere, if that's OK."

"That's fine, man. You haven't heard anything about Spunkmeyer, have you?"

"So far, no," Drake sighed. "Maybe tomorrow, I hope."

Hudson didn't say anything further on that matter. He looked out the window again. The skyline reminded him that he was certainly not in Romania. He wasn't trapped. He was with people who cared about him. Most importantly, the things he thought about and wanted to deal with were dealt with. His relationship with Miranda was great. He was going to help Hicks despite it being long overdue. He was going to put the pieces of his memory back together.

And yet, he still felt like he had so much more he needed to do before ever feeling complete.

* * *

 _Question: How does Drake's desire to help Hudson mirror Hicks's desire to prevent anymore Marines under his watch from committing suicide? How is it contrasted?_

 _Author's Note: After Drake and Vasquez, Hudson and Miranda are my favorite couple to write. I would love to write a post-Aliens story with them as the focus, maybe a fluffy piece about them getting married and Hudson completely messing up everything and him panicking more than the bride.  
_

 _Keep a lookout for another spinoff story, starring Spunkmeyer and Ferro. Happy reading, - Cat._


End file.
